PR 




m&Bgam£<*€&Bm&> 









/x:<3rccr 



•msraR8E<8l 






<£«€:;<? 



<^.ipmZ^ <Js (ftr ^> 






c cl<ml 



«<:£:< 



cm 

€Z€< 

cm 

cc acicac V*-— -- - 

c ccraKi C 






# LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.? 

# I 

' - - /fro * 

f UNITED STATES OP AMERICA.! 





















lite 



|®C ( 















«ga^<^£ 



^S«S 



BT" <CC<XS©; 












^g^ess 



r «C? C3« 






crcc c<£* 









<C<3C ,:„C6C.CCC«.C 


















r << 



A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 



LEGEND OF FLORENCE 



a Pag. 



IN FIVE ACTS. 



\ 



BY LEIGH HUNT. 




One step to the death-bed, 

And one to the bier, 
And one to the charnel, 

And one — oh where ? — Shelley. 



SECOND EDITION. 



LONDON : 
EDWARD MOXON, DOVER STREET. 



Yt^ 






LONDON : 
BHADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WH1TEFRIARS. 






V* 



u 



ARMORER DONKIN, ESQ., 

OF NEWCASTLE, 

Without the aid of whose practical wisdom, in combination with 
his kind heart, the Author might never have had health or leisure 
enough to indulge himself in an effort of this kind, the following Play 
is inscribed by his 

Obliged and affectionate Servant, 

LEIGH HUNT. 
Chelbka, Feb. 6, 1840. 



PREFACE. 



As it is now the custom to publish new plays on the day 
of their performance, I am unable to state here what will 
have been the success or otherwise of the present, as far as 
regards the stage. But I cannot help taking the first 
opportunity of saying, how delightful has been the inter- 
course it has occasioned me with my new friends the per- 
formers, from the moment when the fair manager first held 
out to me her cordial hand, down to the last pleasant 
interchange of jest and earnest during the business of 
rehearsal. In all my life I never met with a reception, on 
all sides, so full of what is most precious to an anxious 
author, — willingness to hear, promptitude to decide, an 
absence of every species of insincerity and mystification, and, 
what has particularly touched me, a generous encouragement 
to proceed in my new efforts, even should the first have 
tried the philosophy of every party concerned, by proving 
unsuccessful. When authors are treated in this manner 
behind the curtain, and the public see what is done to 



viii PREFACE. 

please them by indefatigable attentions to every propriety 
of the stage, no wonder a sense of cheerfulness and abun- 
dance is associated with the idea of Covent Garden Theatre 
in the general mind, and that Madame Vestris, night 
after night, has seen her larger house fill as the smaller 
did, in spite of those who had begun to think large 
houses impracticable, and of the hostility even of that late 
pertinacious anti-playgoer, the bad weather. 

If I omit specifying by name every one among the repre- 
sentatives of my dramatis persona who have shown a 
willingness to befriend me (which indeed includes the whole 
list), they will attribute it partly to a disinclination to make 
my thanks appear mechanical and a matter of course. They 
will not grudge, however, the particular acknowledgments 
I feel bound to express towards the Stage-manager, Mr. 
Bartley, for a co-operation no less judicious than warm ; and 
to Miss Ellen Tree, for entering into the character of the 
heroine with a sensibility of brain and heart which left 
me nothing to desire, except that no failure, occasioned 
by the authorship of the play, might ill reward it. 
Should I have been destined to undergo that new trial of 
old habits of endurance, it may be permitted my self-love, 
by way of consolation, not easily to forget the bright coun- 
tenance which I saw standing beside me, in a glow of tears 
and exaltation, at the end of one of the perusals of the 
piece, — the climax, indeed, of the like kindly sympathies 



PREFACE. ix 

from others of my genial friends behind the curtain. One 
of the agreeable surprises I met with upon making my first 
acquaintance with this part of the theatre (for I was never 
in a green-room before), was this freshness of imagination, 
and strong propensity to the enjoyment as well as business 
of the stage, which I had idly fancied to be not common to 
the profession. I had concluded, with a haste which the 
pleasures of my own studies should have warned me 
against, that when the business of a scene was over, they 
retired to their green-rooms to rest from their fatigues and 
be silent, or to talk of anything else; but I found them 
occupied in nothing so certain, unless it was the general 
playfulness of their animal spirits, — the natural wine, indeed, 
which is necessary to make an actor's blood what it is, and 
which manifests itself in a flow of companionship equally 
liberal and decorous. Such at least I have found the 
theatrical world, as it exists under the unaffected and 
generous government of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Mathews. 

A word respecting the story of my play. — When I resided 
near Florence, some years ago, I was in the habit of going 
through a street in that city, called the " Street of Death," 
(Via delta Morte), — a name given it from the circumstance 
of a lady's having passed through it at night-time in her 
grave-clothes, who had been buried during a trance. The 
story, which in its mortal particulars resembles several of 
the like sort that are popular in other countries, and which, 



x PREFACE. 

indeed, are no less probable than romantic, has been 
variously told by Italian authors ; and I have taken my 
own liberties with it accordingly. But nobody, I believe, in 
Italy ever doubted the main facts. The names of the parties 
most concerned are those of real families, and handed 
down as belonging to the actual persons ; and their characters 
(if my remembrance of the account given in a Florentine 
publication does not deceive me*) correspond in their 
elements with those here attempted to be drawn out. 
Among the pleasures which I have had in making the 
endeavour, (for ultimate success, or otherwise, has no 
more to do with those, than the uses to which a tree may 
be turned, affect it while growing,) is the melancholy one of 
thinking, that the beloved friend whom I lost in that 
country had chosen the same subject for a poem, of which 
he has left a fragment. The motto from it in my title-page 
has enabled me to see our names together once more, and 
upon an occasion which even his noble dramatic genius 
would have taken to welcome me for love's sake, if for no 
reason more worthy of the companionship. 

May I add, without appearance of presumption of another 
sort, that the versification of this play, in passages where 
the natural quickness and freedom of dialogue seemed to 
warrant it, is of a less apparent regularity than the drama 
has been accustomed to for a long time ? I am aware, (and 

* The " Osservatore Fierentino." 



PREFACE. xi 

I say it with deepest reverence, and with a deprecation of 
immodesty even in thinking it necessary so to say it,) that 
the dramatist, high above all dramatists, has almost sancti- 
fied a ten-syllable regularity of structure, scarcely ever varied 
by a syllable, though rich with every other diversity of 
modulation. But noble as the music is which he has 
accordingly left us, massy, yet easy, and never failing him, 
any more than his superhuman abundance of thought and 
imagery, — I dare venture to think, that had he lived 
farther off from the times of the princely monotony of 
" Marlowe's mighty line," he would have carried still farther 
that rhythmical freedom, of which he was the first to set his 
own fashion, and have anticipated, and far surpassed, the 
sprightly licence of Beaumont and Fletcher. All I can 
say in excuse for my own departure from a custom so 
ennobled, is, that it suits, as well as I can make it, the 
amount of power I possess to indulge an impulse which I 
hold to be proper to dramatic verse, as distinguished from 
that of narration. But I beg the reader to give me credit 
for rating the utmost possible success of such a theory no 
higher than it deserves, when brought into comparison with 
that " all in all" of passion and imagination, of which it is 
only the least and lightest of servants. 



PREFACE 

TO THE SECOND EDITION. 



Had the public reception of this play been different from 
what it was, it would still have been my duty, as well as 
pleasure, to thank the management, and all parties con- 
cerned, for the way in which it was put upon the stage, and 
performed. But delightful indeed has the acknowledgment 
been rendered by good fortune. Most kind have been my 
old readers to me; for surely the audience on the first 
night must have been half made up of them, to be so 
willing to be pleased. Most kind also has been the press, 
of all parties,— doubtless moved by a like readiness to think 
the best of a not ill-natured writer ; and especially am I 
bound to value this general spirit of good- will, and above 
all, the loud and instantaneous sympathy of the audience 
with the poetical justice of the catastrophe, when I consider 
how the treatment of domestic tyranny appears to have 
puzzled the ethics of some of my literary brethren ; and 
how questions, which had been accustomed to beg all the 
delicacies on one side, suddenly and provokingly beheld 



xiv PREFACE. 

the possibility of at least an equality of claim shifted to the 
other. Most heartily do I thank the many who have done 
me the honour to agree with me, and the few who have 
kindly differed. 

But gratitude is a poverty-stricken, though a delighted 
thing. It opens its hands, and says, " What have I to 
bestow ?" — I wish I could shower upon Miss Ellen Tree 
pearls and gems, equal to the syllables that she so richly 
utters, with those bright eyes, and those lips which seem 
made delightedly to say " Yes/" 1 How touching, when in 
the character of the unhappy wife, they are forced to show 
themselves equal mistresses of sorrow ! I will venture to 
prophesy, that her delivery of passages in this character, 
like those of the Cibbers and Barrys of old, will be recorded 
in annals of the stage, though the written part, as a whole, 
should not survive its author. To Mr. Bartley, who looks 
to admiration one of those solid yet festive poets of the 
town class, who flourished in the times, and at the table, of 
u that good fellow of a Pope, Leo the Tenth," I am indebted 
for that hearty and emphatic delivery of every word, which 
happened to be of more importance than it might seem to a 
right understanding of much of the spirit of the play. What 
there is of heaviness at present in Mr. Anderson's style is an 
ore containing gold; and will wear off, as the passion in 
him, of which he has a great deal, learns to run into a state 
of fusion, and to overcome intellectual-looking temptations 



PREFACE. xv 

to isolated bits of description and illustration. He is the 
man of all others living, whom I should have desired for the 
part of my lover, had I not had the good fortune to have 
him in it. He is young, in earnest, has no tricks, and can 
be absorbed in another. His burst of feeling, when he finds 
Ginevra alive, which brought down echoes of thunder from 
the house, was as if his whole repressed heart had cried out 
for the first time, and gone mad with delight. And fortunate 
I was also in obtaining, for the part of Agolanti^ the assist- 
ance of a gentleman like Mr. Moore, one of the modestest 
and most zealous men (to judge from a short acquaintance) 
that I ever met with, and whose sole object is to identify 
himself with the character he has to represent. He too, 
like Mr. Anderson, occasionally wants an absorption of the 
less into the greater ; or to express what I mean more 
distinctly, the power of painting incidental images and 
feelings as he goes, without seeming to stop to paint them. 
But like him also, he has no cant, no self-absorption, and, 
on the other hand, a faith in passion, which is capable of 
every acquirable excellence by study. If he failed in 
Hamlet (and who ever did justice to that epitome of the 
faculties of man, of all the celebrated actors of the last forty 
years, including Kean himself ?) I ventured to affirm, that 
he would have the majority of the public with him in a part 
like that of Agolanti ; and I rejoice for his sake, as well as 
my own, that the anticipation has been confirmed. Mr. 
Vandenhoff I had not the pleasure of seeing on the boards, 



xvi PREFACE. 

till he personated the Captain of the Pope's Guards. He is 
younger than Mr. Moore, and even, I believe, than Mr. 
Anderson ; and his style works somewhat crudely at present, 
but not without indications, if I mistake not, of something 
very relishing, as well as ripe, by-and-by. He is sensitive, 
intelligent, graceful in feeling, as well as in face and person ; 
and, like the rest of the performers in this well-met company, 
is in earnest, and desires to know all that can do him and his 
author good. It is a very interesting generation, this of the 
stage, to those who are desirous of what everybody else 
desires, when the speculation is to be turned upon them- 
selves, — namely, that of seeing what is good in them. The 
older ones, with few exceptions, appear to be as young in 
animal spirits as the youngest ; and the youngest, instead of 
being nothing but "gay fellows about town," tend as strongly 
to the domestic affections as the oldest, and are husbands and 
fathers of families. One of them brings the secret of his 
tenderness, as the stage lover, from the bosom of his own 
household ; and another, whom in his love of philology and 
his Latin quotations you took for a young gentleman not 
long arrived from college, tells you that he read your play 
to his wife, the other night, before he went to bed. — But, 
indeed, all the stirring work of life must be performed by 
earnest natures, whether off the stage or upon it. 

I beg Mrs. Walter Lacy to accept my thanks for con- 
senting to perform in so small a part as that of the Page. 
It was difficult, it seems, with one obvious exception (which 
other difficulties stood in the way of),— and a second, I 



PREFACE. xvii 

conclude, owing to a non-habit of performing in such 
characters,— to find a lady for the part, who united the 
triple requisites of song, speech, and a demonstrable pretty 
leg. The leg, no doubt, was common : but not so the 
combination with it of the two other virtues ; and Mrs. 
Lacy was accordingly induced to take pity on us. Miss 
Lee"^ pleasant little gentle nature did not despise the part 
of Fiordilisa ; and this reminds me of the obligation I owe 
to Mr. Payne, the admirable pantomimist, for saving me the 
peril of entrusting the words of a servant to be spoken by 
an unknowing mouth,— a hazard which has often given the 
first cue to the " inextinguishable laughter" of a damnation ! 
Miss Charles uttered what little she had to say to the provok- 
ing bad husband, with all the effective pungency of an Esti- 
fania: and if part of the dirge naturally divided the attention 
of the audience with the other few words delivered by Mrs. 
Brougham, the loss must have been made up to her in that 
beautiful costume and head-dress, which so became her 
handsome countenance. The whole play, indeed, thanks to 
the rapid elegance of the hands of Messrs. Grieve, and the 
pleasant learning, in point of costume, of the new friend I 
have had the happiness of making — Mr. Planche — (the most 
misunderstood of influential men in a theatre, by those who 
think he is not one of the most congenial of authors,) may 
be said to have been, throughout, painted Italian, — the 
scenery delighting the spectators with its southern elegance, 
and the dramatis personce looking as if they had walked out 

b 



xviii PREFACE. 

of the frames of Raphael and Titian, No wonder, when 
the taste and vivacity of a southern nature presides over the 
management, seconded by a congenial knowledge. It has 
been objected to Mr. Bishop's charming melody for the song 
of " Hope," that it is hardly southern enough, though, 
perhaps, of too great a vivacity ; but, for my own part, I 
receive so constant a pleasure from it, as it haunts my ear, 
that I can find in it nothing but to like. As to the more 
solemn and affecting strains of instrumental and vocal music, 
kindly furnished to two of my scenes, by my dear friends 
Vincent Novello and Egerton Webbe, the tears of the 
audience have stopped the words of the author. 

One word more in all reverence, — perhaps I should rather 
say reverential fear, — respecting the versification of Shak- 
speare. What I have ventured to say about it in the first 
Preface, and which my generous critics will greatly oblige 
me when they controvert, by not ceasing to bear in mind 
the reverence with which I have done it, it will become me 
by and by, should others not anticipate the intention, to 
enlarge upon, as well as I may be able, in some remarks 
upon versification in general, and English versification in 
particular , — subjects which have long required discussion, 
and which in the hands of scholars who surpass me in a 
knowledge of languages and music, would be found amply 
to repay it. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Francesco Agolanti, a noble Florentine . Mr. Moore. 

Antonio Rondinelli, another . . . . Mr. Anderson. 

Fulvio Da Riva, a Poet . . . . . Mr. Bartley. 

Cesake Colonna, an Officer of the Pope's Guards Mr. G. Vandenhoff. 

Gictlio, a Page ...... Mrs Walter Lacy. 

Servant . Mr. Payne. 



Ginevra, Wife to Agolanti 
Olimpia, friend of Ginevra 
Diana, another . 
Fiordilisa, Ginevrds handmaiden 



Miss Ellen Tree. 
Miss Charles. 
Mrs. Brougham. 
Miss Lee. 



Scene — Florence and its Neighbourhood. 
Time — During the Pontificate of Leo the Tenth. 



LEGEND OF FLORENCE 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. 

The High-road from Florence to Rome. 

Enter Da Riva and Colon na, meeting. 

Colonna. Fulvio, immortal boy — poet — good fellow — 
Punctual moreover, which is wonder's climax, — 
How dost ? and where hast been these eighteen months ? 
At grass, eh ? fattening with thy Pegasus, 
Like the most holy father ! 

Da Riva. Dearest Cesare, 

'Tis you, methinks, are the immortal boy, 
Growing nor fat nor thin, but still the same ; 
Still the same bantering, glittering, blithe, good soul, 
Pretending to give blows, to excuse thy blessings. 

Colonna. Nay, but the poet is the youth for ever, 
Howe'er he grow ; let him feign even a bit 
Of a white top, like our old roaring boys, 

B 



2 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act i. 

/Etna and Vesuvius, with their sides of wine. 

You know, Da Riva, for those hairs of thine 

I ought to call thee father, if I could ; 

But then thine heart, and this warm hand to match, 

Will never let me think thee, somehow or other, 

A dozen years older than myself. 

Da Riva, Years older ! 

A pretty jest, Yaith, when our souls were twins, 
And thou but the more light one, like an almond 
Pack'd in one shell behind a plumper. Well, 
How dost ? and how does Florio and Filippo ? 
And is the Pope really and truly come 
At last, and in his own most sacred person, 
To see and glorify his native place ? 
Or hast thou shot before him, like a ray 
Out of his orb? 

Colonna. Thy simile has it, 'faith : 

Here is his ray, shining upon thyself, 
As his ray should ; and the good orb meanwhile, 
Growing a little stout or so, reposes 
Some nine miles off, and will be here next week, 
Just by the time your speeches are all ready. 

Da Riva. And toilets ? 

Colonna. Ay, and your extempore odes. 

Well, well ; you see we are insolent as ever, 
All well and merry. — Not so, eh ? in Florence ? 
How is Antonio? and pray, who was he, 



scene i.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 3 

That fellow yonder — there he goes — that left you 
Just as I came, and went off bowing so, 
With such a lavish courtesy and close eye ? 

Da Riva. That lavish courtesy and that close eye 
Will tell you how Antonio is. That fellow, 
As you call him, is one of the most respectable men 
In Florence. " Men," do I say ? one of the richest 
And proudest nobles ; of strict fame withal, 
Yet courteous ; bows to every one, pays every one 

Colonna. Oh villain ! 

Da Riva. Flatters every one ; in short, 

Is as celestial out of his own house, 

As he is devil within it. ( Whispering in his ear) Ginevra's 
husband. 

Colonna. The devil it is ! (Looking after him) Methinks 
he casts a blackness 
Around him as he walks, and blights the vineyards. 
And all is true then, is it, which they tell me ? 
What, quite ? Has he no plea ? no provocation 
From lover, or from wife ? 

Da Riva. None that I know of, 

Except her patience and the lover's merit. 
Antonio's love, you know, is old as his, 
Has been more tried, and, I believe, is spotless. 

Colonna. Dear Rondinelli ! — Well, but has this husband 
No taste of good in him at all ? no corner 
In his heart, for some small household grace to sneak in ? 

b 2 



4 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act i. 

Da Riva. Nay, what he has of grace in him is not sneaking. 
In all, except a heart, and a black shade 
Of superstition, he is man enough ! 
Has a bold blood, large brain, and liberal hand, 
As far as the purse goes ; albeit he likes 
The going to be blown abroad with trumpets. 
Nay, I won't swear he does not love his wife, 
As well as a man of no sort of affection 
Nor any domestic tenderness, can do so. 

Colonna. A mighty attaching gentleman, 'ifaifch, 
And quite uxorious. 

Da Riva. Why, thus it is. 

He highly approves her virtues, talents, beauty ; 
Thinks her the sweetest woman in all Florence, 
Partly, because she is,— partly, because 
She is his own, and glorifies his choice ; 
And therefore he does her the honour of making her 
The representative and epitome 
Of all he values, — public reputation, 
Private obedience, delighted fondness, 
Grateful return for his unamiableness, 
Love without bounds, in short, for his self-love : — 
And as she finds it difficult, poor soul, 
To pay such reasonable demands at sight, 
With the whole treasure of her heart and smiles, 
The gentleman takes pity on — himself ! 
Looks on himself as the most unresponded to 






scene i.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 5 

And unaccountably ill-used bad temper 

In Tuscany ; rages at every word 

And look she gives another ; and fills the house 

With miseries, which, because they ease himself, 

And his vile spleen, he thinks her bound to Suffer; 

And then finds malice in her very suffering ! 

Colonna. And she, they tell me, suffers dangerously ? 

Da Riva. "Tis thought she'll die of it. And yet, observe 
now : — 
Such is poor human nature, at least such 
Is poor human inhuman nature, in this man, 
That if she were to die, I verily think 
He'd weep, and sit at the receipt of pity, 
And call upon the gods, and think he loved her ! 

Colonna. Poor, dear, damn'd tyrant ! — and where goes 
he now ? 

Da Riva. To Florence, from his country-house ; betwixt 
Which place and town, what with his jealousy 
Of the sweet soul, and love of mighty men, 
He'll lead a devil of a life this fortnight ; 
Not knowing whether to let her share the holiday 
For fear of them, and of Antonio ; 
Or whether, for worse fear, still of Antonio, 
To keep her in the shades, love's natural haunt. 

Colonna. The town's the hiding-place. Be sure he'll take 
Some musty lodging in the thick of the town, 
To hide her in : perhaps within the sound 
Of the shows, to vex her ; and let hei see what pleasures 



6 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act i. 

She loses in not loving him. — Well, here am I, 
A feather in the cap of the fair advent 
Of his most pleasant Holiness Pope Leo, 
Come to make holiday with my Tuscan friends, 
And lay our loving heads together, to see 
What can be done to help this gentle lady 
For poor Antonio's sake, and for her own. 

Da Riva. Ay, and amidst those loving heads, are lovely 
ones. 
What think you of the bright Olimpia, 
And sweet Diana, her more thoughtful friend ? — 
You recollect them ? 

Colonna. What ! the divine widows, 

That led that bevy of young married dames 
At the baths of Pisa, and whom we used to call 
Sunlight and Moonlight ? 

Da Riva, The identical stars ! 

She of the crescent has a country-house, 
Here in the neighbourhood, close by Agolanti's. 
There are they both ; and there Antonio is, 
Waiting us two ; and thence his friends the ladies, 
Escorted by us two, will go to visit 
Their friend Ginevra ; partly, if they can, 
To bring him better news of his saint's health ; 
Partly, for other reasons which you'll see. 

Colonna. Charming! And wherefore stand you looking 
then, 
This way and that ? 



scene ii.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 

Da Riva. Why, this way is our road ; 
And that way I was looking, to see how far 
Our friend, the foe, was on his way to town. 
I have never, you must know, been in his house ; 
And little thought he, when he saw us here, 
What unexpected introduction, eh ? 
Was waiting us. I can't help thinking, somehow, 
He'll hear of it, and come back. 

Colonna. For Heaven's sake, haste then. •>. 
What ! loitering ! — May the husband take the hindmost 



SCENE II. 

A Room in the Villa Agolanti. 
Enter Giulio and Fiordilisa, meeting. 

Fiordilisa. Alas ! my lady is very angry, Giulio ! 

Giulio. Angry ? At what ? 

Fiordilisa. At Signor Antonio's letter. 
Oh, she says dreadful things. She says you and I 
Will kill her ; that we make her, or would make her, 
Tell falsehoods to her husband, or bring down 
His justice on our heads ; and she forbids me, 
However innocent you may call, or think it, 



8 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act i. 

Bring letters any more. She bade me give it you 
Back again — see — unopened. 

Giulio. 'Tis a pity 

That, too. 

Fiordilisa. Why, Giulio ? 

Giulio. Oh, Signor Antonio 

Read it me ; — ay, he did — he's such a gentleman. 
He said, — " See, Giulio, I would not have you wrong 
Your mistress in a thought ; nor give you an office 
Might do yourself the thought of wrong, or harm." 
You know I told you what he wrote outside — 
You recollect it — there it is — " Most harmless, — 
I dare to add, most virtuous ;" and there's more 
Besides here, underneath. Did she read that ? 

Fiordilisa. I know not. She read very quickly, at any rate; 
Then held it off, as tho' it frighten'd her, 
And gave it back. And she look'd angry too ; 
At least, she did not look as she is used, 
But turn'd right so, and waived me to be gone. — 
I cannot bear to do the thing she likes not. 
Giulio. Nor I. 

Fiordilisa. Well — so I think. But hush — hush— hush ! 
a step ! [_Runs to the loindow. 

And coming quickly ! — 'Tis the Signor — 'Tis ! 
So soon come back too ! — Strike up the guitar — 
Strike up that song of Hope, my lady loves— 
Quickly now — There's a good little Giulio. [Exit, 






scene ii.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 9 

Giulio. Little ! well, — come, for such an immense young 
gentlewoman 
That's pretty well ! She has fallen in love, I fear, 
With some tall elderly person. — But the song. 

Giulio. (Sings.) 

Hope, thou pretty child of heaven ! I prythee, Hope, abide — 
I will not ask too much of thee — by my suffering side. 
Grief is good for humbleness, and earth is fair to see ; 
And if I do my duty, Hope, I think thou'lt stay with me. 

Enter Agolanti. 

Agolanti. What frivolous ante-chamber tinkling now 
Attunes the pulse to levity ? puts folly 
In mind of vice, as tho 1 the hint were needed ? 
{Listening.) The door shuts, now the song's done. What 

was it ? 
What sang'st thou, boy ? 

Giulio. A song of Hope, sir. 

Agolanti. Hope ! 

What hope ! 

Giulio. I will repeat it, sir, so please you ? 
The words, not music. \_He repeats the words. 

'Tis a song my lady 
Is fond of. 

Agolanti. When she's troubled most ? with sickness ? 

Giulio. No, sir, I think when she's most cheerful. 

Agolanti. That 

Paper within thy vest — Is that the words ? 
Give it me. 



10 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [actx. 

Giulio. Nay, sir, it is none of mine. 

Agolanti. Give it me, boy. 

Giulio. I may not, sir. — I will not. 

Agolanti. Play not the lion's cub with me. That letter 
Was given thee by Antonio Rondinelli. 
He, and the profane wit, Fulvio da Riva, 
Were seen this morning by the Baptistery, 
Talking with thee. Give it me ; or myself 
Will take the answer to Antonio's house 
In bloody characters. 

Giulio {aside). 'Tis a most sacred letter, 
And ought to fell him, like a cuff o 1 the conscience. 
Farewell, my place ! Farewell, my lady sweet ! 
Giulio is gone. — There is the letter, sir ; 
Take it, {aside) and be a devil choked with scripture. 

Agolanti. Unopen'd ! come — thou meanest me well, 
Giulio ? 
Ah ! — but — why didst thou loiter in thy message ? 
How came it that this fair epistle kiss'd not 
The lady's fairer hands ? for that's the style. 

Giulio. It did, sir. 

Agolanti. Did ! 

Giulio. Yes, sir. My lady had it. 

{Aside) How like you that ? You have not read the whole 
On the outside. {Aside) His very joy torments him. 

Agolanti. She read it not, like the good lady she is ; 
But yet you gave it her. 






scene ii.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 11 

Giulio. t He read it me ; 

He did, — the noble Antonio read it me, 
To save my youth, every way, from harm. 

Agolanti (aside). Some vile double signification, ad- 
dressed 
To riper brains, must have secured the words. 
The foresight was too gross, if not a coward's ! 
There has been, after all, I needs must own it, 
A strange forbearance, for so hot a lover, 
In this Antonio. It is now five years 
Since first he sought Ginevra ; nearly four, 
Since still he loved her, tho" another's wife ; 
And — saving that his face is to be noted 
Looking at hers wherever it appears, 
At church, or the evening walk, or tournament, — 
And that IVe mark'd him drooping hereabouts, 
Yet rather as some witless, lonely man, 
Than one that shunn'd me, — my sharp household eyes 
Have fix'd on no confusion of his making ; 
No blush ; no haste ; no tactics of the chamber ; 
No pertness of loud servant — not till now — 
Till now ; — but then this now may show all this 
To have been but a more deep and quiet mastery 
Of crime and devilish knowledge — too secure 
To move uneasily, — and too high scornful 
Of me, to give me even the grace of trouble. 
And yet this seal unbroken, and these words — [Reading. 



12 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act i. 

" Most harmless ; — I dare to add, most virtuous? " 
And here again below ; — 

" I have written what I have written on the outside of 
this letter, hoping that it may move you to believe the 
possibility of its not being unworthy to meet the purest of 
mortal eyes."" 

Filthiest hypocrite ! caught in his own bird-lime. 

{Opens and reads the letter.) 

" As you have openefl neither my first letter nor my 
second, written at intervals of six months each, from the 
moment when my name was first again mentioned to you 
since your marriage, I hardly dare hope that the words I 
am now writing shall have the blessedness of being looked 
upon, although they truly deserve it. 

" Truly, for most piteously they deserve it. I am going 
to reward (may I utter such a word ?) your kindness, by the 
greatest and most dreadful return I can make it. I will 
write to you no more. 

" But this promise is a thing so terrible to me, and so 
un supportable, except in the hope of its doing you some 
good, that I have one reward to beg for myself; not as a 
condition, but as a last and enduring chanty. 

" I no longer ask you to love me, however innocently, or 
on the plea of its being some shadow of relief to you (in the 
sweet thought of loving) from an unhappiness, of which all 
the world speaks. [Agolanti pauses, greatly moved. 



scene ii.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 13 

Is it so then ? and the world speaks of me, 

And basely speaks ! He has been talking then, 

And acting too. But let me know this all. [Reading. 

" Neither yet will I beg you not to hate me ; for so 
gentle a heart cannot hate anybody ; and you never were 
unjust, except to yourself. \_Pauses a little again. 

" But this I do beg ; first, that you will take care of a 

health, which heaven has given you no right to neglect, 

whatever be your unhappiness ; and which, under heaven, 

is the best support of it ; — and secondly, that when you 

think of the friends of whom death has deprived you, or 

may deprive, and whom it will give you joy to meet again 

beyond the grave, you may not be unwilling to behold 

among them the face of 

"Antonio Rondinelli. 

w Written with prayers and tears before the sacred image 

of the Virgin." 

[Agolanti crosses himself, and pauses; then holds the 

letter' apart, as if in disgust ; and then again resumes 

his self-possession. 

Giulio, I think since first I took thee from 

The orphan college, now some three years back, 

I have been no unkind master to thee, nor poor one ; 

Have stinted thee in nought fitting thy station, 

Nor hurt thy growth and blooming ? 

Giulio. Sir, you hired me 

For certain duties, which, with kindly allowance 



14 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act i. 

For faults of youth, I hope I have performed. 
My life has been most happy ; and my lady 
Most bountiful to her poor songster. [Sheds tears. 

Agolanti. Thou 

Hast haply saved some little treasure then, 
Against thy day of freedom ? 

Giulio. Not a doit, sir. 

What freedom should I think of, being free 
From thought itself, and blithe as the blue day ? 

Agolanti. Antonio Rondinelli is not rich. 
His mother and he hide in proud poverty 
From all but a few friends. 

Ghdio {aside). Noble Antonio ! 

He gave me a jewel, ere I knew him poor, 
Worth twenty golden florins ; and his cap 
Starved for it many a month. 

Agolanti. New employers 

Produce new duties, Giulio ; to the hurt, 
Sometimes, of old ones ; and 'tis wise betimes 
To see they vex and tangle not. These mixtures 
Of services, — these new pure confidences 
With masters not thine own, — these go-betweens 
^Twixt virtue and virtue,— loves desiring not 
Their own desires, — and such like angel-adulteries 
(Heaven pardon me the word !)— suit me not, Giulio, 
Nor a wise house. Therefore, before thine innocent 
Lady (for such, with mutual love, I own her, 



scene ii.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 15 

And scorn of this poor fop) learns dangerous pity 

Of thy fair-seeming messages, — dangerous, 

Not to her virtue, but her virtue's fame, — 

This house thou leavest ! Thou wouldst taste the pride 

Of poverty, and will, and kinless freedom — 

Do so ! And when thou learn'st how friendship ends, 

In treachery, and in thanklessness begun, 

And the cold crust turns bitter and quarrelsome, 

Blame not thou me ; nor think those tears are payment 

For guilt on thy side, and for love on mine ! 

Giulio {aside). Love ! what a word from him ! and to 
poor me, 
Thus thrust upon the world, he knows not whither ; 
{Aloud). Sir, you mistake my tears ; but 'tis no matter. 
Guilty or not, I cannot quit this house 
With thoughts less kind than sorrow. — Sir, farewell. [Exit. 

Agolanti. 'Twas virtuously done, if not most falsely, 
This seemingly celestial aversion 
Of the very eyesight from unlawful words. 
Or was it part of the system ? — of the show, — 
Which frets me daily with malign excess 
Of undemanded patience ? cold at best, 
Resentful as the worst ! Antonio, 
I do suspect, she loves not ; me, I know, 
She hates ; me, whom she should love ; whom was bound 
And sworn to love ; for which contempt and wrong, 
Fools, that love half a story and whole blame, 



16 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act i. 

Begin to babble against the person vvrong'd ! 
Times are there, when I feel inclined to sweep 
The world away from me, and lead my own 
Life to myself, unlook'd into with eyes 
That know me not ; but use, and sympathy 
Even with those that wrong me, and the right 
Of comely reputation, keep me still 
Wearing a show of good with a grieved heart. 

Enter a Servant. 

Servant, My lady, sir, hearing of your return 
Home suddenly, and having visiters, 
Entreats the honour of your presence. 

Agolanti (aside). Now 

To test this hateful gossip. " Suddenly ; " — 
Was that her word, or the knave's? No matter. (Aloud) 

Visiters, — 
Who are they ? 

Servant. Lady Olimpia, and her friend 

Lady Diana, with two gentlemen ; 
Strangers, I think, sir ; one a Roman gentleman, 
Come from his Holiness's court. 

Agolanti. The same, 

Doubtless, I saw this morning ; by which token 
The other is the sneering amorist, 
Da Riva. He, I thought, respected me ; 
But see — he knows these women, they Antonio — 



scene in.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. J 7 

Have I been hasty ? or is — The black plague choke 
All meddlers with — 

To the Servant. 

I will come speedily. 

[_ Exeunt severally. 



SCENE III. 

Another Boom in Agolanti's house. Ginevra, Olimpia, 
Diana, Colon n a, and Da Riva, discovered sitting. 
Fiordilisa standing behind her lady's chair. 

Olimpia. Dearest Lady Ginevra, to remain 
Shut up when all the world are at the windows, 
Or otherwise owning the great common joy, 
Is clearly impossible. — Observe now, pray : — 
On Friday the Pope comes; Saturday, chapel 
At the Annunziata; — Sunday, at Saint Lorenzo; 
Monday, the chase ; Tuesday, the race; Wednesday, 
The tilts and drama ; and on Thursday he goes. 
So there's six lives for you ; a life a day, 
To make you well again, and merry, and careless. 

Colonna. Most vital arguments ! 

Ginevra. Too vital, may-be. 

Remember, Lady Olimpia, I have been ill ; — 
I am but getting better ; and such draughts 
Of pleasure and amazement, pour'd unceasing, 
Might drown the little faculties of poor me. 

c 



18 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act i. 

Diana. One day — could you not try one day, and then 
Enjoy, or fear another, as it suited ? 

Olimpia. Ay, one — one — one. Try but one day, and then 
Trust me if one day would not give you strength 
For pretty little two, and prettier three, 

Da Riva. And, madam, the first day is both the noblest 
And the most gentle, — a flow of princely draperies 
Through draperied streets ; bringing us, it is true, 
Emotion, but yet soothing it, and blessing 
With sacred hand. Weakness itself is touchM 
At ceremonial sights like these, with sweet 
And no unstrengthening tears, bathing humility 
In heavenly reassurance. And, dear lady, 
'Twill give a nature, so composed as yours 
With Christian grace and willing cheerfulness, 
A joy at once sacred, and earthly, and charming, 
To see the face of the accomplish^ man 
Whom Providence, most potent seen when mildest, 
Has raised to be the prince of Christendom 
In this our day, when wit is questioning faith, 
And mild religion answers with his eyes 
Of charity, the unanswerable conclusion. 

Colonna. Da Riva, I am to bring thy verse and thee 
To his Beatitude's most knowing knowledge ; 
But do thou step before me, and speak thus, 
And thou art made a cardinal. 



scene in.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 19 

Ginevra. Is his Holiness 

So very and so beautifully gracious 
To eloquence and letters ? 

Colonna. V faith, madam, 

Our blessed Father seems to be of opinion, 
That whatsoever good or beauty exists 
Must needs belong, like angels, to the church ; 
And as he finds them, where severer men 
(Not the best judges of angels) might o'erlook them, 
He makes us know them better ; bids them come 
Forth from the crowd, and show their winged wits, 
And rise, and sit within his princely beams. 

Olimpia. Come; — you accord ? you cannot resist reasons 
Sweet as all these ? and to say truth, there is 
One gentle reason more, which must convince you. 
We want your husband's windows, lady mine; — 
They face the veriest heaven of all the streets 
For seeing the procession ; and how can we 
Enter that paradise of a balcony 
Without the house's angel ? What would people 
Say to the intruders, you not being there ? 

Ginevra. Oh, nothing very unseasonable, be sure ; 
Nor what the lilies and roses in their cheeks, 
And wit in their eyes, could not refute most happily. 
Well, dear Diana, should my husbands judgment 
Encourage me to think my health would bear it, 
I would fain venture, but — I hear him coming. 

c 2 



20 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act i. 

At all events, the windows will be gladly 

Fill'd with your pleasures ; the report of which 

Will afterwards make them mine. [Enter Agolanti. 

Sir, the ladies 
Olimpia and Diana you know well ; 
Also a name honour'd by all, Da Riva ; 
Be pleased to know their friend, a courteous gentleman 
From Rome, the Signor Cesare Colonna. 

Agolanti. He's welcome, for his friend's sake, and his 
own. 
I trust our holy Father keeps his health, sir, 
In this his gracious journey ? 

Colonna. Sir, he holds him, 

As his good habit is, in blest condition, 
To the great joy of all that love good men 
And sovereign church. 

Agolanti. You hold, sir, I perceive, 

Some happy office near his sacred person ? 

Colonna. One of the poor captains of his guard, sir ; 
Nor near enough to make the fortune proud, 
Nor yet so far removed as not to share 
Some grace of recognition. 

Agolanti. I may not envy you : 

But I may be allow'd to think such fortune 
As happy, as 'tis worthily bestow'd. 
Pardon me ; but this lady's delicate health 
Will warrant somp small trespass on your courtesies. 



scene in.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 21 

{To Ginevra.J How fares it with my love these last three 
hours ? 

Ginevra. {Cheerfully.) Thanks — I do very well. 

Olimpia. 1 fear' we have tired her 

Somewhat, with our loud talk, Signor Francesco. 

Ginevra. No ; 'tis like bright health come to talk with us : 
Is it not ? {To her husband.) 

Agolanti. {Aside.) She knows I hate it. — Lady Olimpia 
Brings ever a sprightly stirring to the spirit, 
And her fair friend a balm. {Aside to Ginevra.) What 

want they now, 
This flaunter and this insipidity ? 

Ginevra. {Aloud.) Our neighbour and her friends bring 
a petition, 
That it would please you to convenience them 
With your fair windows for the coming spectacle ; 
Yourself, if well enough, doubling the grace 
With your good company. 

Agolanti. {Aside.) I thought as much. 

At every turn my will is to be torn from me, 
And at her soft suggestion. {Aloud.) My windows 
Cannot be better filPd, than with such beauty, 
And wit and modest eloquence. 

Colonna. {Aside to Da Riva.) Is he sneering? 
Or is his zeal, and fame for polite manners, 
.Proving itself, in spite of his own teeth ? 
Sharpening its edge upon this oily venom ? 



22 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act i. 

Da Riva. Somewhat of both ; he sneers, because he 
hates us ; 
And would not have it seen, because he fears us. 
His will and vanity count on our obtuseness, 
Just as it suits them. (Agolanti and the Ladies talk apart.} 

Colonna. Noticed you how pale 

The unhappy lady turn'd, when the song ended, 
And she bade shut the door ? 

Da Riva. She's paler now. 

Let's interrupt him. — Good Signor Francesco, 
We thank you much ; but windows, friends, and spectacle, 
And, let us add, warranted by his love, 
Husband and all, would miss the topmost flower 
Of our delight, were this sweet lady absent ; 
And she has threaten'd us with the cruel chance, 
Unless your better knowledge of her health 
Think better, than herself, of its free right. 

Agolanti. Oh Sir, it were impossible to know 
A lady better than she knows herself. 
What say you, Madam ? {To Ginevra.) 

Ginevra. The best thought of all, 

Perhaps, were to await the time's arrival, 
And see how I feel then. 

Agolanti. Truly, methinks, 

A discreet j udgment, and approved by all 
Who set the lady's welfare above all, 
As we in this room do. 



scene in.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 23 

Olimpia. And every one 

That knows her,— unless it be the devil himself. 
Manners forgive my uttering his name 
In such good company. Dearest Ginevra, 
Come you with me. A word with you in private, 
As we descend. And we'll request these gentlemen 
To clear our way before us. 

Colonna and Da Riva. A fair day 
To Signor Agolanti, and may fairer 
Befall us this day week. {Going.) 

Olimpia. Yes, Signor mine, 

Be sure you make your wife well by that day, 
With some transcendent charmingness ; or none 
But envious wives, and horrible old men, 
Will think you the good spouse you are, or let you 
Have any peace. 

Agolanti. {Fiercely to his wife as she is going.) What 
insolence is this, 
And woman's plot ? Be in the purple chamber 
In twenty minutes. Do you hear me speak ? 

(He wrings her hand sharply, and she makes signs 
of obedience.) 
A fair day to my courteous visitors, 
And may they ever have the joy they bring. 

{Exeunt. 

END OF ACT THE FIRST. 



24 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act h. 



ACT XL 

SCENE I. 
A Garden of Dianas Villa. 



Enter Rondinelli, Colonna, and Da Riva. 

Colonna. I pray thee, Antonio, be comforted. 

Rondinelli. I am, I am ; as far as friends can comfort 
me : 
And they do comfort. How can I love love, 
And not love all things lovely ? sweet discourse, 
And kindness, and dear friendships. But this suffering 
Sweet saint, — the man, the household fiend, I mean — 
Will kill her. 

Colonna. I tell thee, no. In the first place 
Her health is really better. Is it not ? 

Da Riva. Olimpia and Diana both have staked 
Their credit on it. The man's a fool no doubt, 
But she is wise. 

Colonna. Ay, is she ; for lo ! secondly, 

She loves thee, Antonio. 

Da Riva. Yes ; by that pure look 

We told thee of, at mention of thy name, 
She does ; — it was as though her mind retreated 



scene i ] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 25 

To some blest, serious thought, far off but possible ; 
Then ended with a sigh. 

Colonna. And blush'd withal. 

{Aside.) I did not see the blush, I must confess; 
But being so virtuous, there must have been one, 
And he'll be glad to hear of it. {Aloud.) Well, seeing 
She loves thee then, as thou must needs believe, 
For all that modest earthquake of thine head, 
Bethink thee what a life within a life 
She has to retire into, sweet and secret, 
For help from common temper such as his ; 
Help, none the worse, eh ? for a small, small bit 
Of stubbornness, such as the best gentle wives 

Must have in self-defence. Now 

Rondinelli. Fear me not. 

Such blessed thoughts must needs give me some comfort; 
And I shan't quarrel with the comfort's fashion. 

Colonna. Well then, you'll let me have my fashion out? 
You'll let me speak after my old blithe mood, 
Secure of my good meaning ? 

Rondinelli. Ay, and thankfully. 

Colonna. Why then, sir, look ; there are a hundred 
marriages 
In Florence, and a hundred more to those, 
And hundreds to those hundreds, bad as this ; 
As ill assorted, and as lover-hated ; 
(Always allowing for the nobler difference, 



26 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act ii. 

And therefore greater power to bear) ; and yet 

They do not kill ; partly, because of lovers ; 

Partly, of pride ; partly, indifference ; 

Partly, of hate (a good stanch long-lived passion) ; 

Partly, because all know the common case, 

And custom's custom. There'll be a hundred couples 

To-night, 'twixt Porta Pinti and San Gallo, 

Cutting each other's hearts out with mild looks, 

Upon the question, whether the Pope's mule 

Will be in purple or scarlet ;— yet not one 

Will die of it ; no, ' faith ; nor were a death 

To happen, would the survivors' eyes refuse 

A tear to their old disputant and partner, 

That kept life moving somehow. 

Rondinelli. By which logic 

You would infer, to comfort me, that all 
Marriages are unhappy. 

Colonna. Not unhappy, 

Though not very happy. 

Da Riva. With exceptions? 

Colonna. Surely for such good fellows as ourselves ! 

Da Riva. And doubtless 

A time will come 

Colonna. Oh, ay ; a time will come — 

Poet and prophet — Redeunt Saturnia regna. 
Now hear him on his favourite golden theme, 
" A time will come ; " — a time, eh ? when all marriages 



scene i.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 27 

Shall be like some few dozen ; exceptions, rules ; 
Every day, Sunday ; and each man's pain in the head 
A crowning satisfaction ! 

Da Riva. No ; but still 

A time, when sense and reason shall have grown 
As much more rife than now, and foolish thorns 
As much less in request, as we, now living, 
Surpass rude times and savage ancestors. 
Improvement stopp'd not at the muddy cave, 
Why at the rush-strewn chamber ? The wild man's dream, 
Or what he might have dreamt, when at his wildest, 
Is, to the civilised man, his commonplace : 
And what should time so reverence in ourselves, 
As in his due good course, not still to alter? 

Colonna. Till chariots run some twenty miles an hour ? 

Da Riva. Ay, thirty or forty. 

Colonna. Oh ! oh ! Without horses ? 

Say, without horses. 

Da Riva. Well, to oblige you, — yes. 

Colonna. And sailing-boats without a sail ! Ah, ha ! 
Well, glory be to poetry and to poets ! 
Their cookery is no mincing ! Ah ! ha ! ha ! 

[ Tliey both laugh. 
They certainly, while they're about it, do 
Cut and carve worlds out, with their golden swords, 
To which poor Alexander's was a pumpkin. 
What say you, Antonio ? 



28 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act ti. 

Rondinelli. My dear friends both, 

What you were saying of the good future time 
Made me but think too sadly of the present ; 
Pardon me — I should think more sadly far, 
But for your loves and ever generous patience. 
Yet let me take you back to our fair friends, 
From whom my gusty griefs bore you away. 
Nay, my good wish rewards me : — see, one comes. 

Enter Olimpia. 

Olimpia. A certain Giulio, in a pretty grief 
Though for himself alone, and not another, 
Inquires for Signor Rondinelli. 

[Antonio kisses her hand and exit. 
'Twas lucky that I saw this Giulio first, 
For he's a page of pages ; a Spartan boy ; — 
Quite fix'd on telling his beloved Signor 
Antonio all the truths which the said Signor 
May now, or at any time in all futurity, 
Insist on knowing. Poor fellow ! he's turn'd away. 

Da Riva. For what ? 

Olimpia. Come in, 

And you shall hear. Your ices and sherbets 
Await you ; and your cheeks will need the cooling. 

[Exeunt. 



scene ii.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 29 



SCENE II. 

A Chamber hung with purple, and containing a cabinet 
picture of the Madonna* but otherwise little furnished* 
Ginevra discovered sitting at a window. 

Enter Agolanti. 
Agolanti. Every way she opposes me, even with arms 
Of peace and love. I bade remove that picture 
From this deserted room. Can she have had it 
Brought back this instant, knowing how my anger, 
Just though it be, cannot behold unmoved 
The face of suffering heaven ? Oh artifice 
In very piety ! 'Twere piety to veil it 
From our discourse, and look another way. 

[During this speech, Ginevra comes forward, and 
Agolanti, after closing the cabinet doors over the 
picture, hands her a chair; adjusting another for 
himself but continuing to stand. 
Ginevra. (Cheerfully.) The world seems glad after its 
hearty drink 
Of rain. I fear'd when you came back this morning, 
The shower had stopp'd you, or that you were ill. 

Agolanti. You fear'd ! you hoped. What fear you that 
I fear, 
Or hope for that I hope for ? A truce, madam, 



30 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act ii. 

To these exordiums and pretended interests, 
Whose only shallow intent is to delay, 
Or to divert, the sole dire subject, — me. 
Soh ! you would see the spectacle ! you, who start 
At openings of doors, and falls of pins. 
Trumpets and drums quiet a lady's nerves ; 
And a good hacking blow at a tournament 
Equals burnt feathers or hartshorn, for a stimulus 
To pretty household tremblers. 

Ginevra. I express'd 

No wish to see the tournament, nor indeed 
Anything, of my own accord ; or contrary 
To your good judgment. 

Agolanti. Oh, of course not. Wishes 

Are never express 1 d for, or by, contraries ; 
Nor the good judgment of an anxious husband 
Held forth as a pleasant thing to differ with. 

Ginevra. It is as easy as sitting in my chair, 
To say I will not go: and I will not. 
Be pleased to think that settled. 

Agolanti. The more easily, 

As 'tis expected / should go, is it not ? 
And then you will sit happy at receipt 
Of letters from Antonio Rondinelli. 

Ginevra. Returned unopen'd, sir. 

Agolanti, How many ? 

Ginevra, Three. 



scene ii.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 31 

AgolantL You are correct, as to those three. How 
many 
Open'd? — Your look, madam, is wondrous logical; 
Conclusive by mere pathos of astonishment ; 
And cramm'd with scorn, from pure unscornfulness. 
I have, 'tis true, strong doubts of your regard 
For him, or any one ; — of your love of power 
None, — as you know I have reason ; — tho' you take 
Ways of refined provokingness to wreak it. 
Antonio knows these fools you saw but now, 
And fools have foolish friendships, and bad leagues 
For getting a little power, not natural to them, 
Out of their laugh'd-at betters. Be it as it may, 
All this, I will not have these prying idlers 
Put my domestic troubles to the blush ; 
Nor you sit thus, in ostentatious meekness, 
Playing the victim with a pretty breath, 
And smiles that say " God help me. 1 ' — Well, madam, 
What do you say? 

Ginevra. I say I will do whatever 

You think best, and desire. 

AgolantL And make the worst of it 

By whatsoever may mislead, and vex? 
There — now you make a pretty sign, as tho' 
Your silence were compell'd. 

Ginevra. What can I say, 

Or what alas ! not say, and not be chided ? 



32 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act ii. 

You should not use me thus. I have not strength for it, 
So great as you may think. My late sharp illness 
Has left me weak. 

Agolanti, Tve known you weaker, madam, 

But never feeble enough to want the strength 
Of contest and perverseness. Oh, men too, 
Men may be weak, even from the magnanimity 
Of strength itself; and women can take poor 
Advantages, that were in men but cowardice. 

Ginevra. (Aside ) Dear Heaven ! what humblest doubts 
of our self-knowledge 
Should we not feel, when tyranny can talk thus. 

Agolanti. Can you pretend, madam, with your surpassing 
Candour and heavenly kindness, that you never 
Utter'd one gently-sounding word, not meant 
To give the hearer pain ? me pain ? your husband ? 
Whom in all evil thoughts you so pretend 
To be unlike. 

Ginevra. I cannot dare pretend it. 

I am a woman, not an angel. 

Agolanti. Ay, 

See there — you have ! you own it ! how pretend then 
To make such griefs of every petty syllable, 
Wrung from myself by everlasting scorn ? 

Ginevra. One pain is not a thousand ; nor one wrong, 
Acknowledged and repented of, the habit 
Of unprovoked and unrepented years. 



scene ii.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 33 

Agolanti. Of unprovoked ! Oh, let all provocation 
Take every brutish shape it can devise 
To try endurance with ; taunt it in failure, 
Grind it in want, stoop it with family shames, 
Make gross the name of mother, call it fool, 
Pander, slave, coward, or whatsoever opprobrium 
Makes the soul swoon within its rage, for want 
Of some great answer, terrible as its wrong, 
And it shall be as nothing to this miserable, 
Mean, meek-voiced, most malignant lie of lies, 
This angel-mimicking non-provocation 
From one too cold to enrage, and weak to tread on ! 
You never loved me once — You loved me not — 
Never did — no — not when before the altar 
With a mean coldness, a worldly-minded coldness 
And lie on your lips, you took me for your husband, 
Thinking to have a house, a purse, a liberty, 
By, but not for, the man you scorn'd to love ! 

Ginevra. I scorn'd you not — and knew not what scorn 
was — 
Being scarcely past a child, and knowing nothing 
But trusting thoughts and innocent daily habits. 
Oh, could you trust yourself — But why repeat 
What still is thus repeated day by day, 
Still ending with the question, ii Why repeat?" 

[Rising and moving about. 
You make the blood at last mount to my brain, 



34 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act ii. 

And tax me past endurance. What have I done, 
Good God ! what have I done, that I am thus 
At the mercy of a mystery of tyranny, 
Which from its victim demands every virtue, 
And brings it none ? 

Agolanti. I thank you, madam, humbly. 

That was sincere, at least. 

Ginevra. I beg your pardon. 

Anger is ever excessive, and speaks wrong. 

Agolanti. This is the gentle, patient, unprovoked, 
And unprovoking, never-answering she ! 

Ginevra. Nay, nay, say on ; — I do deserve it, — I 
Who speak such evil of anger, and then am angry. 
Yet you might pity me too, being like yourself 
In fellowship there at least. 

Agolanti. A taunt in friendliness ! 

Meekness's happiest condescension ! 

Ginevra. No, 

So help me Heaven ! — I but spoke in consciousness 
Of what was weak on both sides. There's a love 
In that, would you but know it, and encourage it. 
The consciousness of wrong, in wills not evil, 
Brings charity. Be you but charitable, 
And I am grateful, and we both shall learn. 

Agolanti. I am conscious of no wrong in this dispute, 
Nor when we dispute, ever, — except the wrong 
Done to myself by a will far more wilful, 



scene ii] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 35 

Because less moved, and less ingenuous. 
Let them get charity, that show it. 

Ginevra (icho has reseated herself). I pray you, 
Let Fiordilisa come to me. My lips 
Will show you that I faint. 

[Agolanti rings a bell on the table ; and Fiordilisa 
enters to her mistress. 
Agolanti. When you have seen your mistress well 
again, 
Go to Matteo ; and tell him, from herself, 
That 'tis her orders she be excused at present 
To all that come, her state requiring it, 
And convalescence. Mark you that addition. 
She's getting well ; but to get well, needs rest. [Exit. 

Fiordilisa. Needs rest ! Alas ! When will you let her 
rest, 
But in her grave ? My lady ! My sweet mistress ! 

[Applying a volatile to her temples. 
She knows me. — He has gone : — the Signor's gone. 
{Aside.) She sighs, as though she mourn'd him. 
Ginevra (listening). What's that? 

Fiordilisa. Nothing, madam ; — I heard nothing. 
Ginevra. Everything 

Gives me a painful wonder ; — you, your face, 
These walls. My hand seems to me not more human, 
Than animal ; and all things unaccountable. 
'Twill pass away. What's that ? [A church-organ is heard 

d 2 



36 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act ii. 

Fiordilisa. Yes, I hear that. 

'Tis Father Anselmo, madam, in the chapel, 
Touching the new organ. In truth, I ask'd him, 
Thinking that as the Signor is so moved 
By whatsoever speaks to him of religion, 
It might have done no harm to you and him, madam, 
To hear it while conversing. But he's old 
And slow, is the good father. 

[Ginevra kisses her, and then weeps abundantly. 

Ginevra. Thank Heaven ! thank Heaven and the sweet 
sounds ! I have not 
Wept, Fiordilisa, now, for many a day, 
And the sound freshens me ; — loosens my heart. 

[Music. 
O blessed music ! at thy feet we lie, 
Pitied of angels surely. 

Fiordilisa. Perhaps, madam, 

You will rest here, and try to sleep awhile ? 

Ginevra. No, Fiordilisa (rising). Meeting what must be, 
Is half commanding it ; and in this breath 
Of heaven my mind feels duty set erect, 
Fresh out of tears. Bed is for night, not day, 
When duty's done. So cheer we as we may. 

[Exeunt ; the music continuing, 

END OF ACT THE SECOND. 



scene i.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 37 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. 
A Room in Agolanti's Villa. 



Enter Agolanti. 

Agolanti. What have I done, great heavens! to be thus 
tortured ? 
My gates beset with these inquisitive fools ; 
A wife, strong as her hate, so I be dumb, 
Falling in gulfs of weakness for a word ; 
And all the while, dastardly nameless foes, 
Who know where I am weak, filling my household 
With talk of ominous things, — sad mourning shapes 
That walk my grounds, none knowing how they enter 'd ; 
And in the dead of night, outcries for help, 
As of a female crouching to the door. 
Let me be met by daylight, man to man, 
If 'tis to come to this ; and to loud lies 
Answer with my contempt, and with my sword. 

Enter a Servant. 
Servant The gentlemen that were here the other day, 



38 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act hi. 

Signor Da Riva, and the Roman gentleman, 
Desire to kiss your hands. 

Agolanti. Fool ! were not orders 

Given you to admit no one ? 

Servant. To my lady, sir ; 

We did not understand, to you. 

Agolanti. Idiots and torments ! 

Enter Da Riva and Colonna. Exit Servant. 

Colonna. We kiss your hands, courteous Signor Fran- 
cesco. 

Da Riva. And come to thank you for the seats you have 
given us. 
In all the city there is no such throne 
Of comfort, for a sovereign command 
Of the best part o' the show ; which will be glorious. 

Colonna. And with your lady for the queen o' the throne, 
The Pope himself may look up as he walks, 
And worship you with envy. 

Agolanti. Nay, sirs, you are too flattering. Perhaps 
The lady— 

Colonna. And what makes us the more delighted 
With your determination thus to give her 
Unto the grateful spectacle, is a certain 
Vile talk, sir, that has come to our disdainful 
And most incredulous ears of — What do you think? 

Da Riva. Ay, sir, 'twill tax your fancy. 



scene i.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 39 

Colonna. Of your jealousy ; 

Nay cruelty, forsooth ! 

Da Riva. We laugh 'd it down ; 

Look'd it Tthe foolish face, and made it blush. 
Yes, sir, the absurdity was put out of countenance ; 
But then, you know, that countenance was but one ; 
And twenty absurd grave faces, going about, 
Big with a scandal, are as fertile as bees, 
And make as busy multitudes of fools. 

Agolanti. Sirs, with this sudden incursion of strange 
news — 
And your as strange, I must say, though well-meant 
Fancy, of the necessity of refuting it — 

Colonna. Fancy, good sir ! — Dear sir, we are most loath 
To shock your noble knowledge of yourself 
With the whole truth — with the whole credulous fiction ; 
But to convince you how requisite is the step 
Thus to be taken in the truth's behalf, 
The theme is constant, both in court and market-place, 
That you're a very tyrant ! 

Da Riva. And to a saint ! 

Vex her from morn to night — 

Colonna. Frighten her — 

Da Riva. Cast her 

Into strange swoons, and monstrous shows of death. 

Agolanti. Monstrous indeed ! and shows ! That is most 
true. 



40 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act in- 

Those are the shows ! and I am to be at the spectacle 

To let her face make what display it can 

Of the mean lie, and mock me to the world. 

Pardon me — I'm disturb'd — Pm not myself — 

My house is not quite happy — you see it — Whose is ? 

But look, sir, — Why should Florence fall on me ? 

Why select me, as the scape-goat of a common 

And self-resented misery ? 'Tis a lie, 

A boy's lie, a turn'd-off servant's lie, 

That mine is a worse misery than their own, 

Or more deserved. You know the Strozzi family, 

You know the Baldi, Rossi, Brunelleschi — 

You do, Signor Da Riva, — the Guidi also, 

And Arregucci : — well, — are they all smiles ? 

All comfort? Is there, on the husbands"' sides, 

No roughness ? no plain- speaking ? or, on the wives', 

No answering, tart or otherwise ? — no black looks ? 

No softest spite ; nor meekness, pale with malice ? 

No smile with the teeth set, shivering forth a sneer ? 

Take any dozen couples, the first you think of, 

Those you know best ; and see, if matrimony 

Has been success with them, or a dull failure ; 

Dull at the best ; probably, damn'd with discord ; 

A hell, the worse for being carried about 

With quiet looks ; or, horriblest of all, 

Betwixt habitual hate and fulsome holiday. 

Da Riva. Oh, sir, you wrong poor mixM humanity, 



scene i.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 41 

And think not bow much nobleness relieves it, 
Nor what a heap of good old love there lies 
Sometimes in seeming quarrel. I thought you, sir, 
I must confess, a more enduring Christian. 

Colonna. And churchman, sir. I own 1 have been 
astonishM — 
Pardon one somewhat nearer than yourself 
Unto the church's prince — to hear you speak 
Thus strangely of a holy ordinance. 

Agolanti (aside). These men will make me mad. Have 
they come here 
To warn me, or to torment me ? — Sir, the earth 
Holds not a man bows down with lowlier front 
To holy church and to all holy ordinances: 
It is their worldly violation mads me. 
If my poor name be ever in sacred mouths, 
I pray thee say so ; and add, I am a man 
Not happy quite perhaps, more than some others 
Of mankind's fallen race, in my home's Eve ; 
Who, with some humours, yet is good as fair, 
And only makes me unhappy in the excess 
Of my desire to make herself most blessed. 
My conscience thus discharged, look'ye, fair sir, — 
A man of a less trusting sort — 

Enter a Servant. 

Servant. My lady, sir, 

Being worse since her last seizure at day-break, 



42 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act hi. 

The Nurse would fain send in the neighbourhood 
For— 

Agolanti. Bid her do so. Tell her to send instantly 
Forwhom she pleases. {Exit Servant.) You will pardon me; — 
This troubled house of mine — At the good spectacle, 
I shall behold you. 

Colonna. We take anxious leave, sir, 

Wishing you all good speed with the sweet lady. 
But something we had forgotten, in our zeal 
To tell our own poor story, tho' we came 
Partly to give it you, — a letter, sir, 
From a most dear and excellent friend of ours ; 
Who, we dare say it, for reasons which your delicacy 
Will be glad, too, to turn to like fair grace 
Of liberal trust and gentle interpretation, 
Wishes your house all good and quiet fame. 
'Tis something very special that he writes of, 
So he assures us, and of instant urgency ; 
But what we know not. \_Exeunt. 

Agolanti {reads). " If Signor Agolanti values his wife's 
peace, and life, he will meet the writer of this letter instantly ; 
who will wait for him, an hour from the receipt of it, in the 
wood near his gate, by the road-side leading to Cortona. 

"Antonio Rondinelli." 
'Tis as I fear'd. He knows them, as I thought, 
And well ? Is it a league ? Conspiracy ? 
And face to face too ! He ! This beats all boldness. 



scene ii.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 43 

'Sdeath, must my time be his too ! What strange matter 

Can give him right of speech ! " Her life ! " Who seeks it? 

What bloody juggle is to beset me now ? 

I'll meet thee, Antonio ; and before we part, 

Strange mystery shall be pluck'd from some one's heart. 

{Exit. 



SCENE II. 

A Wood. Rondinelli discovered waiting. 

Rondinelli. My bosom is so full, my heart wants air ; 
It fears even want of utterance ; fears the man, 
For very loathing ; fears his horrible right, 
His lawless claim of lawfulness ; and feels 
Shame at his poisonous want of shame and manhood. 
Yet she endures him ; she can smile to him, 
Would have him better. Oh, heavenly Ginevra ! 
Name, which to breathe puts pity in the air, 
I know that to deserve to be thy friend 
Should be to show all proofs of gentlest right. 
Oh be the spirit of thine hand on mine ; — 
Hang by me, like a light, a face, an angel, 
To whom I turn for privilege of blest patience, 
Letting me call thee my soul's wife ! 

He comes. 



44 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act hi. 

Enter Agolanti. 

Agolanti. I recognise the Signor Rondinelli ; 
And in him, if I err not, the inditer 
Of a strange letter. — He would speak with me ? 

Rondinelli. Pardon me. I am sensible that I trespass 
On many delicacies, which at first confuse me. 
Be pleased to look upon them all as summM 
In this acknowledgment, and as permitted me 
To hold acquitted in your coming hither. 
I would fain speak all calmly and christianly. 

Agolanti. You spoke of my wife's life. 'Twas that that 
brought me. 

Rondinelli. Many speak of it. 

Agolanti. To what end ? 

Rondinelli. They doubt 

If you are aware on what a delicate thread 
It hangs. 

Agolanti. Mean you of health ? 

Rondinelli. I do. 

Agolanti. 'Twere strange, 

If I knew not the substance of the tenure, 
Seeing it daily. 

Rondinelli. A daily sight — pardon me — 
May, on that very account, be but a dull one. — 
I pray you, do not think I use plain words 



scene ii.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 45 

From wish to offend : I have but one object— such 
As all must have, who know, or ever have known, 
The lady, — you above all others. 

Agolanti. Truly, sir, 

You, and these knowing friends of yours, or hers, 
Whom I know not, might leave the proverb alone, 
Which says that a fool knows better what occurs 
In his own house, than a wise man does in another's. 
Good Signor Antonio, I endure you 
Out of a sort of pity : you understand me; 
Perhaps not quite a just one. This same letter 
Is not the first of yours, that has intruded 
Into my walls. 

Rondinelli. We understand each other 
In some things, Signor Agolanti, and well ; 
In some things one of us is much mistaken ; 
But one thing we know perfectly, both of us, — 
The spotlessness of her, concerning whom 
We speak, with conscious souls, thus face to face. — 
Signor Agolanti, I humbly beg of you, 
Well nigh with tears, which you may pity, and welcome, 
So you deny them not, that it will please you 
To recollect, that the best daily eyes, 
The wisest and the kindest, made secure 
By custom and gradation, may see not 
In the fine dreadful fading of a face 
What others see. 



46 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act hi. 

Agolanti. Signor Antonio, — 

When others allow others to rule their houses, 
To dictate commonplaces, and to substitute 
For long experience and uncanting love 
Their meddling self-sufficiency, their envious 
Wish to find fault, and most impertinent finding it, 
When this is the custom and the fashion, then, 
And not till then, will I throw open my doors 
To all my kind good masters of fair Florence, 
To come and know more in my house than I do ; 
To see more, hear more, have a more inward taste 
Of whatsoever is sweet and sacred in it, 
And then vouchsafe me their opinions : order me 
About, like some new household animal 
CalFd servant-husband, they being husband-gods, 
Yet condescending to all collateral offices 
Of gossip, eaves-dropper, consulting-doctor, 
Beggarly paymaster of discarded page, 
Themselves discarded suitor. 

Rondinelli. {Aside.) Help me, angel, 

Against a pride, that, seeing thee, is nothing. — 
You know full well, Francesco Agolanti, 
That though a suitor for the prize you won 
(Oh ! what a prize ! and what a winning ! enough 
Surely to make you bear with him that lost) 8 
Discarded I could not be, never, alas ! 
Having found acceptation. My acquaintance 



scene ii.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 

Not long preceded yours ; and was too brief 

To let my love win on her filial eyes, 

Before your own came beaming with that wealth, 

Which, with all other shows of good and prosperous, 

Her parents justly thought her due. For writing to her 

Since, with whatever innocence (as you know) 

And for any opinions of yourself 

In which I may have wrong'd you, I am desirous 

To hold my own will in a constant state 

Of pardon-begging and self-sacrifice, 

And will engage never to trouble more 

Your blessed doors (for such I'll hope they will be) 

One thing provided. — Sir, it is, 

That in consideration of your possessing 

A treasure, which all men will think and speak of 

(The more to the just pride of him that owns it), 

You will be pleased to show, even ostentatiously, 

What more than care, at this supposed sad juncture, 

You take of it : will call in learned eyes 

To judge of what your own too happy ones 

May slide o'er too securely ; will thus revenge 

Your wrong on ill mouths, by refuting them ; 

And secure kindlier ones from the misfortune 

Of being uncharitable towards yourself. 

Agolanti. I will not suffer, more than other men, 
That wrong should be assumed of me, and bend me 
To what it pleases. What I know, I know ; 



48 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act hi. 

■M 

What in that knowledge have'done, shall still do. 
The more you speak, the greater is the insult 
To one that asks not your advice, nor needs it ; 
Nor am I to be tricked into submission — 
To a pedantic and o'erweening insolence, 
Because it treats me like a child, with gross 
Self-reconciling needs and sugary fulsomeness. 
Go back to the world you speak of, you yourself, 
True infant ; and learn better from its own school. 
You tire me. 

Rondinelli. Stay; my last words must be heard. — 
In nothing then will there be any difference 
From what the world now see ? 

AgolantL In nothing, fool ! — 

Why should there ? Am I a painter's posture-figure ? 
A glove to be made to fit ? a public humour ? 
To hear you is preposterous ; not to trample you 
A favour, which I know not why I show. 

Rondinelli. I'll tell you. 

'Tis because you, with cowardly tyranny, 
Presume on the bless'd shape that stands between us ; 
Ay, with an impudence of your own, immeasurable, 
Skulk at an angel's skirts. 

Agolanti. I laugh at you. 

And let me tell you at parting, that the way 
To serve a lady best, and have her faults 
Lightliest admonished by her lawful helper, 



scene ii.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 49 

Is not to thrust a lawless vanity 
'Twixt him and his vex'd love. 

jRondinelli. Utter that word 
No second time. Blaspheme not its religion. 
And mark me, once for all. I know you proud, 
Rich, sanguine during passion, sullen after it, 
Purchasing shows of mutual respect, 
With bows as low, as their recoil is lofty ; 
And thinking that the world and you, being each 
No better than each other, may thus ever, 
In smooth accommodation of absurdity, 
Move prosperous to your graves. But also I know you 
Misgiving amidst all of it ; more violent 
Than bold, more superstitious ev'n than formal ; 
More propp'd up by the public breath, than vital 
In very self-conceit, Now mark me 

Agolanti. A beggar 

Mad with detection, barking like his cur ! 

Rondinelli. Mark me, impostor. Let that saint be 
worse 
By one hair's- breadth of sickness, and you take 
No step to show that you would have prevented it, 
And every soul in Florence, from the beggar 
Up to the princely sacredness now coming, 
Shall be loud on you, and loathe you. Boys shall follow 

you, 

Plucking your shuddering skirts ; women forego, 



50 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act hi. 

For woman's sake, their bashfulness, and speak 
Words at you, as you pass ; old friends not know you ; 
Enemies meet you, friend-like ; and when, for shame, 
You shut yourself in-doors, and take to your bed, 
And die of this world by day, and the next by night, 
The nurse, that makes a penny of your pillow, 
And would desire you gone, but your groans pay her. 
Shall turn from the last agony in your throat, 
And count her wages ! 

Agolanti [drawing his sword). Death in thine own throat. 

Rondinelli. Tempt me not. 

Agolanti. Coward ! 

Rondinelli [drawing his sivord). All you saints bear wit- 
ness ! 

\_Cries of" Agolanti ! Signor Agolanti ! " 

Enter Servants in disorder. 

First Servant. My lady, sir. 

Agolanti. What of her ? 

Servant. Sir, she is dead. 

Agolanti. Thou say'st what cannot be. A hundred 
times 
Fve seen her worse than she is now. 

Rondinelli. Oh horror ! 

To hear such words, knowing the end ! — Oh dreadful ! 
But is it true, good fellow ? Thou art a man, 
And hast moist eyes. Say that they served thee dimly. 



scene 11.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 51 

Servant Hark, sir. 

[ The passing-bell is heard. They all take off their 
caps, except Agolanti. 
Rondinelli. She's gone ; and I am alone. Earth's blank ; 
Misery certain.— The cause, alas ! the cause ! 

[Passionately to Agolanti. 
Uncover thee, irreverent infamy ! 

Agolanti {uncovering). Infamy thou, to treat thus 
ruffianly 
A mute-struck sorrow. 

Rondinelli. Oh God ! to hear him talk ! 

To hear him talk, and know that he has slain her ! 
Bear witness, you — you of his household — you, 
That knew him best, and what a poison he was — 
He has slain her. — What you all fear'd would be, has come, 
And the mild thread that held her heart, is broken. 

Agolanti (going off with the Servants). Pietro, I say, and 
Giotto ! away ! away ! 

{Exit with Servants. 

Rondinelli. Ay, ay ; to justice with him ! Whither with 

me ? {Exeunt opposite. 



EXD OF ACT THE THIRD. 



E 2 



52 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act iv. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. 

A Room in the House of Da Riva. Colonna, Olimpia, 
and Diana, discovered, the first looking out of a windoio. 
A funeral-bell is tolling at intervals. 



Colonna. By the moving of the crowd the funeral comes. 
No ; — yet I thought I heard the Choristers. 

Diana, You did. Hark now — 

[A faint sound of Choristers, 
And now like some sweet sigh 
Of heaven and earth it pauses. — You look sadder, 
Signor Colonna, than you thought you should, 
Within this festal week. 

Colonna. "Faith, gentle lady, 
I'd rather hear upon a winter's night, 
A dozen trumpets of the enemy 

Blow 'gainst my nestled cheek, than this poor weakness, 
Which comes to pass us, standing idly thus, 
Swallowing the lumpish sorrow in one's throat, 
'Twixt rage and pity. 



scene i.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 53 

Olimpia. I have noted oft, 
That eyes, that have kept dry their cups of tears, 
The moment they were touch'd by music's fingers, 
Trembled, brim full. 

Diana, It is the meeting, love, 

Of beauty so divine, with earth so weak. 
We swell within us with immortal thoughts, 
And then take pity on the feeble riddle, 
That lies thus cold, and thus rebuked in death. 

[Choristers resume, and continue during the 
dialogue. 

Colonna. I heard as I came in, one who has seen her 
Laid on the bier, say that she looks most heavenly. 

Diana. I saw her lately, as you'll see her now, 
Lying but newly dead, her blind sweet looks 
Border'd with lilies, which her pretty maiden, 
'Twixt tears and kisses, put about her hair, 
To show her spotless life, and that wrong man 
Dared not forbid, for very piteous truth ; 
And as she lay thus, not more unresisting 
Than all her life, I pitied even him, 
To think, that let him weep, or ask her pardon 
Never so much, she could not answer more. 

Colonna. They turn the corner now, and now they pass. 
[The Choristers suddenly become loud, and are 
heard passing underneath the window. After 
they have passed, Colonna resumes. 



54 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act iv. 

Farewell, sweet soul ! Death and thy patient life 
Were so well match'd, I scarce can think thee alter'd. 

Enter Da Riva. 
How now, Da Riva ? Found you not Antonio, 
That thus you look amazed ? What is't ? No harm 
To his poor self ? 

Da Riva. None, none ; to him, or any ; 
None that shall be; monstrous, and strange, and horrible, 
As ignorance of the peril might have made it. 

Colonna, \ 

Olimpia, > To whom? 
and Diana.) 

Da Riva. Prepare to hear, and to endure, 
A chance, the very hope of which is awful, 
It raises up a vision with a look 
So mixed of life and death. 

Colonna, \ 

Olimpia, \ What is it ? 
and Diana.) 

Da Riva. You, 
Colonna, will to Antonio instantly, 
To keep him ignorant till all be known : 
You, my sweet friends, with me, to seek some nest 
Of balm and comfort, close upon the spot, 
Against a chance — Think me not mad, but hearken. 

Diana. He has murdered her ! He thought to murder 
her, 



scene i.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 55 

And his hand failed. 

Olimpia. Poison ! Oh Heavens ! 

Colonna. P ra y? calm them. 

Da Riva. Scarcely ten minutes had I left you here, 
When Fiordilisa, paler than her mistress, 
Found me with Giulio by Antonio's door. 

Colonna. You have not seen him then ? 

Da Riva. Yes; — the poor maiden 
Told us of an appearance she had noted 
All night about the lips of the dear lady 
Which made her call to mind stories, too true, 
Of horrors in the dreadful pestilence, 
Of hasty shrouds, sleeps found to have been sleeps only, 
And gentle creatures grown so desperate, 
That they had raised their hands against their lives 
For waking to the sense of life itself. 

Olimpia. Where now they bear her ! 

Diana. Not unknown. 

Colonna. Be tranquil, 

Watch has been set ? 

Da Riva. And will look close till morn. 
Giulio, from time to time, 'twixt them and us, 
Will fly with news ; and meantime sweep we all 
Each to our tasks, and bless the hope that sets them. 
If true, oh think where but in sleep she lies : 
If vain, she still will bless us from the skies. 

[Exeunt. 



56 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act iv. 



SCENE II. 

A Cemetery, with an open Vault in the back-ground, and 
a dim noise of revelry, as from some house in the 
neighbourhood. 

Enter Giulio. 
Ghdio. What devilishness, and outrage to the dead, 
About whose homes the rudest-footed churl 
Treads softly, e'en by day. The noble hearts 
I serve, have been so generous, that these drunkards 
Count it but as a folly worth their cheating, 
And have shut up their promised vigilance 
Within the roaring wine-house. (Noise again.) Only one 
Remains within the gate, who let me in, 
Staring 'twixt sleep and glass-eyed sottish ness. 
Yet see — the vault has been left open, wide 
As fear could wish. What, if ! — Methinks the man 
LookM at me yonder; — yes, and is still looking ; — (Noise 

again) 
And now the noise allures him, and he turns. 
Hark ! Not a sound, but when the riot swells! 
So still all else, that I can hear the grass 
Whisper, as in lament, through its lorn hair. 
Til in, and look. —What if a hope almost 






scene ii.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 57 

As dreadful, for the moment, as worst fear, 

Show to my heart its selfish cowardice, 

And I should see her, not still laid, but risen ! 

Sitting perhaps, with eyes encountering mine, 

And muttering lips ! I'll take thy burden, horror, 

Upon me, for love's sake and gratitude's ; 

Oh will I, Heaven ! e'en should my knees melt under me, 

And every pore turn to a swoon of water. 

\_He enters the Vault, and returns. 
Gone ! Borne away ? or of her own self gone ? 
Gone; without friend to help, or to pursue ! 
And whither ? or with help itself how dreadful ! 
What hands for lilied innocence in the night !j 
Perhaps that very house — What ho, there ! — you ! 

\_The gate of the Cemetery is loudly shut. 
He shuts the gate ! he shuts, and is himself 
Gone ! and forbid it, Heaven, not for my sake, 
But hers, but hers, left me, perhaps on purpose, 
To call in vain, and 'gainst the bolts grow mad ! 
Pardon, sweet Heavens ! I'll not be mad, for fear 
Of madness, but be calm. What ho, there ! Stay ! 
Come back, for Heaven's sweet sake, and ope the doors. 

[Exit. 



58 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act iv. 



SCENE III. 

A Room in Agolanti's House in Florence. Agolanti 
discovered looking out of an open window, and then quit- 
ting it. Sound of lutes in the distance. 

Agolanti. That sound of homeward lutes, which I arose 
Out of my restless bed, to feel companion 'd with, 
For some few passing moments, was the last 
To-night in Florence. Not a footstep more 
Touches the sleeping streets ; that now seem witch'd 
With the same fears that walk around me still, 
Ready to greet me with unbearable eyes. 
All air seems whispering of me ; and things visible 
Take meaning in their shapes, not safe to know. 
Oh that a masculine and religious soul 
Should be thus feeble ! And why ? what should I fear ? 
My name has worship still ; and still will have it, 
If honourable wealth and sacred friends 
Can shield it from mad envy ; and if I err'd 
Sometimes as husband, she I loved err'd more, 
With spirit so swelling as outstrain'd her life. 
Oh, every man^s infirmities, more or less, 
Mix with his love ; and they who in excess 
Feel not all passions, felt not love like mine, 






scene in.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 59 

Nor knew what worlds, when my despair seem'd angriest, 

I could have given for one, for but one look 

Of sure and heartfelt pity in her eyes. 

But she is gone ; and for whate'er I did 

Not well, I have humbled me to the god of power ; 

And given the shrine, near which her dust is laid, 

New glorious beams of paintings and of gold, 

Doubling its heaven to the white angelical tapers ; 

For which, they say, the sovereign Holiness 

Himself will thank me. And yet, — thus, even thus, 

I feel, — a shudderer at the very silence, 

Which seems preparing me some angriness. 

I'll close the window ; and rouse Ippolito 

To read to me in some religious book. 

\Going towards the window^ he stops and listens. 
What was it ? a step ? a voice ? 

Ginevra (is heard outside). Agolanti ! 
Francesco Agolanti ! husband ! 

Agolanti {crossing himself and moving towards the 
window). It draws me, 
In horror, to look on it. — Oh God ! —I see it ! 
There is — something there — standing in the moonlight. 

Ginevra. Come forth, and help me in — Oh help me in ! 

Agolanti. It speaks ! (very loudly) I cannot bear the 
dreadfulness ! 
The horror's in my throat, my hair, my brain ! 
Detestable thing ! witch ! mockery of the blessed ! 



60 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act iv. 

Hide thee ! Be nothing ! Come heaven and earth betwixt us! 
[He closes the shutters in a frenzy, and then rushes apart. 
Oh God ! a little life ; — a little reason ; — 
Till I reach the arms of the living.— Ippolito ! 
Tonio ! Giuseppe ! Lights ! Wake Father Angelo ! 

\_He staggers out, 



SCENE IV. 

A retired corner in Florence, injrontofRoNDiNELu's House, 
with Garden-wall and Trees. Rondinelli out oj 
doors^ musing. 

Rondinelli. A gentle night, clothed with the moon and 
silence. — 
Blessed be God, who lets us see the stars ; 
Who puts no black and sightless gulf between 
Those golden gazers out of immensity, 
And mortal eyes, yearning with hope and love ! — 
She's now a blessed spirit beyond those lights, 
With happy eternal cheek. And yet, methinks, 
Serious as well as sweet is bliss in heaven, 
And permits pity for those that are left mourning. 
Gentle is greatest and habitual nature ! 
Gentle the starry space ! gentle the air ! 
Gentle the softly ever-moving trees ! 



scene iv.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 61 

Gentle time past and future ! both asleep, 

While the quick present is loud by daylight only. 

And gently I come to nature, to be worthy 

Of comfort and of her, and mix myself 

With the everlasting mildness in which she lives. — 

Sweetest and best ! my couch a widower seems, 

Altho' it knew thee not ; and I came forth 

To join thee as I could ; for thou and I 

Are thus unhoused alike, and in no home. 

The wide earth holds us both. 

Ginevra enters, and halts apart, looking at him. 

Ginevra. Antonio ! 

JRondinelli. Oh earth and heaven ! What art thou? 

Ginevra. Fear not to look on me, Antonio! 
I am Ginevra — buried, but not dead, 
And have got forth and none will let me in. 
Even my mother is frighten'd at my voice, 
And I have wander 1 d to thy gentle doors. 
Have pity on me, good Antonio, 
And take me from the dreadful streets at night. 

Rondinelli. Oh Heaven ! Oh all things terrible and 
beautiful ! 
Art thou not angel, showing me some dread sight 
Of trial and reproof ? Or art thou indeed 
Still living, and may that hand be touch'd with mine ? 

[She has held out her hand to him. 



62 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act iv. 

Ginevra. Clasp it, and help me towards thy door ; for 
wonder 
And fear, and that long deadly swoon, have made 
Me too a terror to myself, and scarcely 
I know how I stand thus. 

Rondinelli (moving slowly \ but eagerly >, and breathless towards 
her). Infold us, air ! 
Infold us, night and time, if it be vision ! 
If not — if not — 

[He touches her hand, and clasps her to his heart. 
It is Ginevra's self, 
And in Antonio's arms ! — She faints ! Oh sweetest ! 
Oh cheek, whose tears have been with mine — She'll die ! — 
She'll die, and I shall have kill'd her ! 

Ginevra (sliding down on her knees). Strength has risen 
o'er me from the depths of weakness. 
Oh Signor Rondinelli ! Oh good Antonio, 
Be all I think thee, and think not ill of me, 
Nor let me pass thy threshold, having a fear 
Of the world's speech, to stain a spotless misery. 

Rondinelli. Oh rise ; and when I think that thou canst 
stand 
Unhelp'd of these most glad but reverent arms, 
Aloof will I wait from thee, as far apart 
As now I closely grasp'd thee. I was mad, 
And am, with joy, to find thee alive, and near me ; 
But, oh blest creature ! Oh lady ! Antonio's angel ! 



scene iv] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 63, 

Say but the word — do — and I love thee so, 
That after thou hast tasted food and wine, 
Myself will bear thee to thy house, thy husband, 
Laying a heav'n on his repentant heart. 

Ginevra. Never. The grave itself has been between us ; 
The hand of heaven has parted us, acknowledged 
By his own driving me from his shrieking doors : 
And none but thy door, and a convent's now, 
To which thy honourable haste will guide me, 
Shall open to me in this world again. 
Shelter me till the morn. Thou hast a mother ? 

Rondinelli. Blessed be Heav'n, [ have ; — a right good 
mother — 
Gentle, and strong, and pious. She will be yours, 
So long as our poor walls boast of inclosing you, 
And instantly. You scarcely shall have set 
Your foot in the house, but with religious joy, 
She will arise, and take you to her bed, 
And make a child of you, lady, till you sleep. 

Ginevra. Blessed be Heav'n indeed. I can walk strangely. 

\_Exeunt. 



END OF ACT THE FOURTH. 



64 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act v. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I. 
A Room in the House of Rondinelli, ivho enters. 



Rondinelli. Five blessed days, and not a soul but we 
Knows what this house in its rich bosom holds. 
The man whom dear Diana bribed to secrecy 
For our sakes, is now secret for his own ; 
And here, our guest is taken for a kinswoman, 
Fled from a wealthy but a hated suitor, 
Out of no hatred, haply, to myself; 
For which, as well as for her own sweet sake, 
The servants love her, and will keep her close. 
She holds my mother's hand, and loves her eyes; — - 
And yester evening she twice spake my name, 
Meaning another's. Hence am I most proud, 
Hence potent ; hence, such bliss it is to love 
With smallest thought of being loved again, 
That though I know not how this heav'n on earth 
Can change to one still heaven lier, nor less hoh r , 



scene i.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 65 

I am caught up, like saints in ecstacies, 

Above the ground ; — tread air ; — see not the streets 

Through which I pass, for swiftness of delight, 

And hugging to my secret heart one bosom. 

T live, as though the earth held but two faces, 

And mine perpetually look'd on hers. 

Enter Giulio. 
How now, sweet Giulio? why so hushM ? our visitor 
No longer sleeps by day. (Giulio kisses his hand ) 

And why this style 
Of pretty reverence and zeal, as though 
You came betwixt myself and some new trouble ? 

Giulio. Nay, sir. 

Rondinelli. You smile, to reassure me. Well ; 

Yet you breathe hard, and have been flying hither, 
Your pretty plumage beaten with the wind, 
And look as haggard pale, as when you brought 
The daybreak to us from that cage, and found 
Safe-housed our bird of paradise. What is it? 

Giulio. T came, that Marco might not come. I thought, 
Dear lord and master, GiuhVs lips had best 
Bring news of one whose face the servants know not, 
Now in the hall, asking to speak with you. 

Rondineli. What face? — Who is it? 

Giulio. He saw me, and started ; 

And yet not angrily. 



66 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act v. 

Rondinelli. Who saw ? No kinsman 

Of my dear mother's guest ? 

Giulio. No, sir ; no kinsman. 

Rondinelli. No officer from the court, or clergy ? 

Giulio. Neither. 

Rondinelli. Our mutual friends are all, this instant, 
with us, 
Here, in the house. They, if they saw this man — 
Say — would they know him ? 

Giulio. Surely, sir ; none better, 

Or with less willingness; — though five short days 
Have bow'd him down, as with a score of years; 
His eye that was so proud, now seems but stretch'd 
With secret haste and sore anxiety ; 
And what he speaks, he seems yet not to think of. 

Rondinelli. Come, let us speak his name, lest a mad 
chance 
That 'tis not he, make me repent the cowardice. 
'Tishe? the man? 

Giulio. The Signor Agolanti. 

Rondinelli (aside). Life is struck black. Yet not so, 
sweetest face, 
Not so. He shall not hurt a hair of thy head, 
While the earth holds us. — Guess you what he knows ? 

Giulio. All. 

Rondinelli. How ? 

Giulio. I saw, coming from out his door, 



scene i.j A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 67 

The sexton's boy, his lowering front in smiles 

For some triumphant craft ; and not long afterwards 

Came he, half staggering, shrouding with his cap 

His haggard eyes. He bent his steps this way, 

And I took wings before him, to give Marco 

Speech for him should he come, and be his harbinger, 

Sir, with yourself. 

Rondinelli. Best boy ! my friend, and brother ! 
But, Giulio, say you not a word elsewhere. 
You understand me ? 

Giulio. Oh sir, — yes. 

RondinellL Bid Marco 

Conduct him hither. 

Giulio. Geri and myself 

May remain then ? Not within hearing, sir, 
But within call? 

Rondinelli. Good lad ! but there's no need. 

See you, that not another eye in the house 
Behold him coming. — Let him be shown up. 

[Exit Giulio ; and after a while, enter Agolanti, 
looking round the room. They pause a little, and 
regard one another. 

Agolanti. You know why I am here? 
Rondinelli. I do. 

Agolanti. Five days — 

(Aside) Rouse thee, Agolanti. Never shook'st thou yet 

F 2 



68 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act v. 

At Jiving face: — what quaiFd thee, coming hither ? 

(To Rondinklli.) Five days, and nothing told a husband ? 

Rondinelli. Nothing ! 

Agolanti. Nothing that he deem'd mortal. — But with 
whom 
Am I thus speaking? With one honourable? 
One who though lawless in his wish, was held 
Scrupulous in action ? of nice thought for others ? 

Rondinelli. The angel who came hither, is angel still. 

Agolanti. Signor Rondinelli, respect this grief. 
It respects thee, if thou art still the man 
I thought thee once. A graver faith than most, 
And love most loving, if its truth were known, 
Did, from excess of both — But what is past, 
Is past; — a gentleman is before me ;— his foe, 
Or one he deem'd such, at a disadvantage ; 
Illness, on all sides, gone ;— I am here; am ready 
To beg her pardon for that sore mistake, 
Which for its very madness, friends, methinks, 
Might haste to pardon ; — and so take her home. 

Rondinelli. Your words are gentle, Signor Agolanti :— 
I thank you ; and would to Heav'n, what must be borne, 
Were always borne so well. The thing you speak of, 
Seems easy, but in truth is not so. 

Agolanti. How ? 

Rondinelli, A bar has risen. 

Agolanti. A bar ! 



scene i.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 69 

Rondinelli. Which, to speak briefly, 

Has render'd it not possible. 

Agolanti. Not possible ! 

(Aside.) He said that she was " angel still.'" — (To Ron- 
dinelli.) She still 
Is living ? 

Rondinelli. Yes. 

Agolanti. And here? 

Rondinelli. She is so. 

Agolanti. Able 

To move ? recover'd ? 

Rondinelli. She is still but weak, 

Yet hourly gaining strength. 

Agolanti. What hinders then — 

You do not speak. Tell me, what strange prevention, 
What inconceivable " bar," I think, you call'd it — 

Rondinelli. Signor Francesco, I shall distress you 
greatly ; 
And, for all sakes, as you will see too well, 
Would to God any other man on earth 
Had to make this disclosure. 

Agolanti. In God's name then, 

What is it ? 

Rondinelli. Her own consent would be required. 

Agolanti. Well? 

Rondinelli. And 'twould not be given. — She "11 not return. 

Agolanti. Will not return .'—How "not return?" She's 
well? 



70 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act r. 

She's better — perhaps would wait some days—yes, yes — 
Well, sir — when will she ? Ill see her instantly, 
And then we'll settle when. But you can tell me 
At once. — Be pleased to say, sir, when you think 
She'll come. 

Rondinelli. 'Tis her own terrible word I speak, sir, 
The night when she stood houseless at my door, 
Dead to the past, alive to virtue only, 
And honourable grief. She will return 
Never. 

Agolanti. Never return ! Ginevra Agolanti 
Never return ? not come to her own house ? 
Impossible ! — Witchcraft has been here ! Seduction ! 
Where is she ? Let me see her — instantly, sir I 
Would you part man and wife ? 

Rondinelli. Alas ! she holds them 

Parted already, not by me. 

Agolanti. A wife 

Has but one home, sir. 

Rondinelli. Sir, she thought so. 

Agolanti. Sir, fever and delirium would not have 
made 
A friend unpardonable in my eyes 
For having mis-beheld me. 

Rondinelli. Surely, sir : — 

Yet I conceive there is a difference. 
But I am not the judge. 



scene i.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 71 

Agolanti. You are, sir ; — I fear 

You are ; — I fear you have made yourself the judge, sir, 
The criminal — the detainer. Why say nothing 
Of her being here? Why let me find it out 
From a gross boy, who has quarrell'd with his master, 
And makes my shame his profit ? Housed with thee too ! 

Rondinelli. Nay, in the melancholy convent housed, 
Soon as its doors, now hung with flowers for Rome, 
Be open to admit the appeals of sorrow ! 

Agolanti. Appeals of lies and crimes.— And so my wounds 
Must be torn open afresh ! hidden from none ! 
All eyes must stare upon me ! I demand 
To see my wife ; — the lady Agolanti: — 
She is detain'd here. Horrible light begins 
To dawn ; there has been dreadful mockery — 
Conspiracy ! Worse ! You have dishonour'd her. 

Rondinelli. 'Tis false. — Be calm. Let both be calm, 
nor startle 
Feminine ears with words. Wait in this room, 
Here, on the left, awhile ; — I'll bring herself 
To look upon thy speech, if it so please her ; 
If not, my mother, sir, — you have heard of her, — 
From whom, so help me God, I never yet 
Beheld her separate. 

Agolanti. I demand — 

Rondinelli. This way. 

\_Exeunt. 



72 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act v, 



SCENE II. 

Another Room. 



Enter Rondinelli ; and to him, from the opposite side, Giulio 
with Fjordilisa, who kisses his hand. 

Rondinelli. Sweet Fiordilisa, you attend your mistress 
Too closely. You grow pale. 

Fiordilisa. 'Twas Giulio's paleness, sir, 

Struck me with mine. 

Rondinelli. Fear not for him, or any one; 

You see me pale, yet see me smiling too : 
Now go, and with the like good flag advanced 
Of comfort beyond trouble, tell your lady 
I would entreat one word with her, alone. 

Fiordilisa. I'll think, sir, trouble cannot come to stay 
Within so quiet and so blessM a house ; 
And so I'll try to look. [Exit Fiordilisa. 

Rondinelli (who has been writing something). And now 
you, Giulio, 
Go tell the friends who come to greet her rise 
From the sick bed, what shade has folio w'd them. 
I fear, from some deep whispering on the stairs 
I caught but now, as we were coming up, 
They heard us wrangling. Say, all's quiet now — 



scene ii.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 73 

They'll see me soon ; and give this to my mother. 

[Exit Giqlio with the paper ; and enter Ginevra. 

My mother would have been before me, lady, 
To beg an audience for her son ; but you, 
Being still the final and sole arbitress 
Of a new question, come with sudden face ; 
It might befit you also, for more reasons 
Than I may speak, to be its first sole hearer. 

Ginevra. What is it ? 

Rondinelli. Nothing that need bring those eyes 

Out of the orbs of their sweet self-possession. 
Your thoughts may stay within their heaven, and hear it. 
'Twixt it and you, there is all heaven, and earth. 

Ginevra. My story is known, ere I have reach'd the 
convent ? 

Rondinelli. Even so. 

Ginevra. And somebody has come to claim me ? 
From him ? 

Rondinelli. Not from him. 

Ginevra. From the church then ? No ! 

The state ? 

Rondinelli. I said not from him. He is shaken 
Far more than you should be, being what you are, 
And all hearts loving you. 

Ginevra. Himself ! 

Rondinelli. Himself. — 



74 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act v. 

His haughty neck yet stooping with that night, 
Which smote his hairs half grey. (She weeps.) 

Ginevra (aside). Alas ! — yet more 

Alas, that I should say it. — Not loud then? 
Not angry ? 

Rondinelli. Only with your vows of refuge, 
And those that stand betwixt his will and power ; 
Else humble ; nay, in tears, and seeking pardon. 
(Aside.) She's wrung to the core ! — With grief is't ? and 

what grief? 
Oh now, all riddles of the heart of love, 
When 'twould at once be generous, yet most mean ; 
All truth, yet craft ; a sacrifice, yet none ; 
Risk all in foppery of supposed desert, 
And then be ready in anguish to cry out 
At being believed, and thought the love it is, 
Martyr beyond all fires, renouncing heaven 
By very reason that none can so have earn'd it ; — 
Oh, if she pities him, and relents, and goes 
Back to that house, let her yet weep for me ! 

Ginevra. When I said " Never 1 ' to that word " return," 
He had not suffered thus; had not shown sorrow ; 
Was not bow'd down with a grey penitence. — 
Sir — I would say, kind host — most kind of men — 
My friend and my preserver — 

Rondinelli. Say no more, 

So you think well of me. 

Ginevra. I could say on, 



scene ii.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 75 

And twenty times as much, so you would think it 
Best, some day hence. — Speak not. — 

Rondinelli. Yes, honour bids me ; 

Honour, above all doubts, even of poor self, 
Whether to gain or lose ; — bids me say bravely, 
Be wise, while generous — Guard the best one's peace, 
Whoe'er that is ; — her peace — the rights of goodness 
And vindication of the o'er-seeing heavens, 
High above all wrong hearts, — his, — or mine own. 

Ginevra. Although you call me " best," who am not so, 
I'll write that last and noblest admonition 
Within the strongest memory of my soul, 
For all our sakes. The way to him. 

Rondinelli. One word. 

My mother — she — will see you again sometimes 
In your lot's bettering from its former state, 
As surely it must, your friends now knowing all, 
He sad for all. 

Ginevra. It is a help I look for. 

Rondinelli. Her son forgive him that at this last 
moment 
He makes this first and only mention of him, 
Since you vouchsafed to rest your troubles with us, — 
His first — his last ; — may he too, as a friend, 
Hope — that a thought of him — a passing memory — 
Will sometimes mix with hers ? 

Ginevra. To think of her 

Will be to think of both. 



76 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act v. 

Eondinelli. Oh gentlest creature, 

If what I am about to say to thee 
Offend thee in the least, count it such madness 
As innocence may pity ; and show no sign 
Of thy displeasure. Be but mute ; and sorrow 
With as mute thanks shall resume common words. 
But if, in thy late knowledge of Antonio, 
Thou hast seen nought, that under happier omens 
And with all righteous sanction, might have hinder^ thee 
From piecing out his nature's imperfections 
With thy sweet thoughts and hourly confidence, 
Reach him, oh reach, but for one blissful moment, 
And to make patience beautiful for ever, 
Thy most true woman's hand. 

[She turns aside, and holds out to him her hand. 
My heart would drink it. 
\_He strains it with both hands against his bosom. 
Do thy worst, memory, now. — We have known each other 
For twenty years in this. Your tears embolden you 
Even to look at me through their glittering veil, 
And set me some sweet miserable task : — 
I understand ; — yes, we'll go quietly, 
And you will let me keep this hand to the door ? 
We will walk thus. This little walk contains 
A life ! — Might you say one word to me at parting? 
Ginevra. Antonio ! — may your noble heart be happy. 

[She clasps her hands, and speaks with constant 
vehemence, looking towards the audience. 



scene it.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 77 

Alas ! alas ! Why was that one word utter'd 

To bear down the last patience of my soul, 

And make me cry aloud to Heaven and misery ? 

I am most miserable. I am a creature 

That now, for fifteen years, from childhood upwards, 

Till this hard moment, when the heavens forbid it, 

Have known not what it was to shed a tear, 

Which others met with theirs. Therefore mine eyes 

Did learn to hush themselves, and young, grow dry. 

For my poor father knew not how I loved him, 

Nor mother neither ; and my severe husband 

Demanded love, not knowing lovingness. 

And now I cry out, wishing to be right, 

And being wrong ; and by the side of me 

Weeps the best heart, which ought not so to weep, 

And duty's self seems to turn round upon me, 

And mock me ; by whose law nevertheless 

Do I abide, and will I ; so pray Heaven 

To keep me in my wits, and teach me better. 

Turn me aside, sweet saints, and let me go. 

I While Rondinelli, who has fallen on his knee, is 
stretching his hands toivards her, the voices of 
Agolantt, Colonna, and Da Riva, are 
heard in violent quarrel*. 

* The following words of the quarrel are supposed to be uttered during 
the most violent confusion, and partly at once : — 

Agolanti. Who sent you here ? I never asked for you, 
Nor you — 

Colonna. And who for you ? 



78 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act v. 

Ginevra. His voice ! In anger too ? Did you not say 
That he was calm? Heart- stricken ? 

Rondinelli. He seem'd so. 

Ginevra. Perhaps is so, and they mistake his sorrow. 
There's mercy in it: for when danger comes, 
Duty cries loudest. Ay, and here's the friend 
Will not forsake me still, but bear me on, 
Right where the trumpet of the angel calls. 

\_He speeds her out. 



SCENE THE LAST, 



Another Room in Rondinelli's House. Agolanti and 
Colonna, in loud dispute, with their Swords drawn, 
Da Riva interposing. 

Agolanti. I say — 

Colonna. What say you then ? 

Da Riva. Well, let him speak. 

Agolanti. Who ? 

Da Riva. Shut the door, 

I say. 

Colonna. Ay, who? What idiot, or what brute 
Could that be ? 

Agolanti. Heaven itself, whom you blaspheme. 
My voice shall reach it. 

Da Riva. Door ! the door ! he has open'd it 

On purpose ; see you not ? Follow him out. 



scene last.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 79 

Agolanti. I say, that nothing upon earth, no insolence — 

Colonna. House-coward ! 

Da Riva. Hush. 

Agolanti. Nor prudent friend — 

Colonna. Still, coward. 

Agolanti. Nor talk of law, nor threats of church itself. 
Shall move my foot one jot from where I stand, 
Till she whom law, church, heaven and earth join'd to me, 
Shall join me again, and quit this infamous house. 

Da Riva. To be twice slain in thine ? 

Colonna. And twice thrust forth, 

If she return to fright thee ? 

Agolanti. I've seen the page here; 

Seen you ; guess at your women ; and shall know 
What hideous trap has steepYl her soul in blushes, 
If she come not. 

Colonna (going to attack him) Blush in thy grave to 
say so. 

Enter Rondinelli with Ginevra, followed by his Mother, 
Olimpia, Diana, Giulio, Fiordilisa, and Servants. 

Rondinelli. Forbear ! an angel comes. Take her, and 
pray 

Just Heaven to make her happy as thyself. 

Colonna. Antonio, thou art damn'd to think it. See — 
Da Riva. He shrinks from her again in very fear, 

Which in his rage of vanity hell avenge. 



80 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act v. 

Agolanti. I hear not what they say, my poor Ginevra, 
Thinking of thee alone. — Come, bear thee up, 
And bravely, — as thou dost. We'll leave this place — 
This way — So — so — 

Da Riva. Antonio, will you let him ? 

Think of herself.— 'Tis none of yours, this business, 
But the whole earth's. 

Rondinelli. She will not have me stay him — 

I dare not — My own house too — See, she goes with him. 

Da Riva. Call in the neighbours — 

Colonna. Do, there's a right soul — 

Tell all. 

Agolanti She's with me still ! She's mine ! Who stays us. 

Olimpia and Diana. Ginevra ! sweetest friend ! 

Agolanti. Who triumphs now ? Who laughs ? Who 
mocks at pandars, 
Cowards, and shameless women ? 

Ginevra (bursting away from him). Loose me, and 
hearken. 
Madness will crush my senses in, or speak : — 
The fire of the heavenward sense of my wrongs crowns me; 
The voice of the patience of a life cries out of me ; 
Every thing warns me. I will not return. 
I claim the judgment of most holy church. 
Til not go back to that un sacred house, 
Where heavenly ties restrain not hellish discord, 
Loveless, remorseless, never to be taught. 



scene last.] A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. 81 

I came to meet with pity, and find shame ; 
Tears, and find triumph ; peace, and a loud sword. 
The convent walls— Bear me to those — In secret, 
If it may be ; if not, as loudly as strife, — 
Drawing a wholesome tempest through the streets ; 
And there, as close as bonded hands may cling, 
I'll hide, and pray for ever, to my grave. — 
Come you, and you, and you, and help me walk. 

Agolanti. Let her not stir. Nor dare to stir one soul, 
Lest in the madness of my wrongs I smite ye. 

Ginevra {to Agolanti), Look at me, and remember. 
Think how oft 
I've seen as sharp a point turn-d on thyself 
To fright me ; how, upon a weaker breast ; 
And what a world of shames unmasculine 
These woman's cheeks would have to burn in telling. — 
The white wrath festers in his face, and then 
He's devilish. 

Rondinelli. Will you let her fall ? She swoons. 

[He catches he?' in his arms. 

Agolanti {turning to kill him). Where'er she goes, she 
shall not go there. 

Colonna {intercepting him with his own sword). Dastard! 
Strike at a man so pinion'd ? 

Agolanti. Die then for him. {Strikes at Colon na.) 

Diana and Olimpia. Help ! Help ! 

[The doors fly open, enter Giulio followed by 
Officer and Guard. 

G 



82 A LEGEND OF FLORENCE. [act v. 

Giulio. Tis here ! Part them, for mercy's sake. 
Colonna. Die thou. {He pierces him.) 
Da Riva. He's slain ! What hast thou done ? 
Colonna. The deed 

Of his own will. One must have perish'd, sir {to Officer) ; 
One, my dear friend (to Da Riva.) Which was the 
corse to be ? 
Da Riva {looking at it). There's not a heart here, but 
will say, 'Twas he. 

[Curtain falls. 



THE END. 



LONDON : 
BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRlARb. 



DRAMATIC LIBRARY. 



In One Volume, with Portrait, Vignette, and Index, price Ids. cloth, 
THE 

DRAMATIC WORKS OF WILLIAM SHAKSPE ARE 

WITH REMARKS OX HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS, 

BY THOMAS CAMPBELL. 



In One Volume, with Portrait, Vignette, and Index, price 24s. cloth, 

THE WORKS OF BEN JONSON ; 

WITH A MEMOIR OF HI3 LIFE AND WRITINGS. 

BY BARRY CORNWALL. 



In One Volume, price 20s. cloth, 

THE WORKS OF MASSINGER AND FORD. 

WITH AN INTRODUCTION, 

BY HARTLEY COLERIDGE. 



In Two Volumes, 

THE WORKS OF BEAUMONT & FLETCHER ; 

WITH AN INTRODUCTION, 

BY ROBERT SOUTHEY, LL.D., 

POET LAUREATE, ETC. ETC. 



In One Volume, 

THE WORKS 

OF 

WYCHERLEY, VANBRUGH, FARQUHAR, 
AND CONGREVE. 

WITH BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES, 

BY LEIGH HUNT. 



EDWARD MOXON, DOVER STREET. 



Wt 



<CCC: 



Tec Ik c <XOX? <«P^^^^ l^CCC< 






«q«ree§r> si,« 









«r< ccci 



Ti C<2< 



£^B3E^ 



mat 


















VvCCCs j 



it 



'in* «sp 









i* ccc<; 





















wsm* 






re cere 






< <E tc# « :^ 5r 33 

C<J ^<^££ r «^ SS ^ 









c 

T 

So 






CCc 
GELc 

«^< 

GT< 









<rr cc 









MH 









T Q5 C 



^ 


<* 




?■ 


: «i 


'« 



B£^F *lte~Svx3 

:cac 



xccccc 
recede 



2 OdCM 

c re ccccca 



*g«#^i£WK 






c:^: 



C3CCCCO 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 






